1. May God strike poetry's lion with a lion,

    and the assassin of my finely crafted verse with an assassin.

  2. I hid a remnant of it from ears,

    fettered, barred from every stay and journey.

  3. And, fearing for it, I shut its jewel boxes;

    so it grew precious, though I had cheapened none of its jewelry.

  4. And what warned me against the violation of its sanctuary

    was the memory of a roaming verse that crosses the earth:

  5. Does not the jealous old man confine his daughters

    for fear of a wastrel with a jinn's ways?

Sol 6.1