تناهى فاطمأن إلى العتاب — Al Sari Al Raffa

He desisted and grew content with reproach,

and addressed the reproaching women graciously.

He went as companion to a branch no longer supple,

though once he had accompanied supple branches.

The arenas of youthful dalliance were emptied of him,

and youth's horses were stripped of him.

Others' dyeing made him scorn—when

he turned away from it—the falsehood of dye.

He sent back his cups, displayed in jewels,

though once he sent them back with necks unadorned.

He knew for certain it was the nights' talon,

revealed in the sharp points of claw and fang.

Even if you have left a feeble lamp,

they have assailed what shone brighter than a shooting star.

I saw his cloak as useless upon him,

and his smooth road as the roughness of ravines.

As though he had never aided the youths of the lances

with his valor, nor the youths of dalliance,

nor kept their life unclouded,

though some of them were motes in a drink.

Many a cup in a saffron-dyed shirt was carried round

to him by a woman in a saffron-dyed veil.

And many words of his grew sweet, and served

the purpose of wine through sweet drops.

He runs them repeatedly through thought's strainer,

then sends them forth like a shimmering mirage.

And many a wilderness where the journey lasted so long

that we thought it traveled with the riding-camels.

There we kept company with separation's sorrows,

confident of the joys of return,

toward the generous man who welcomes hopes

with his bosom and his courtyards wide.

Indeed, the virtues of Abu Ḥuṣayn have become

fortresses amid grievous calamities.

He clothed me in the shade of his bounty, and sheltered

my speech's rare creations after their exile.

So I was like a meadow watered by clouds,

that praised the clouds with its breeze.

A bounty in which good cheer flashes forth,

and sends it pouring amid a blaze,

as clouds with gathered fronts move on,

their banks gilded by lightning's flash.

He devoted himself to holy war and was a keen blade,

sharp-edged in it, never glancing off.

He engages foes, sword drawn, from every quarter,

and enters, bearing his battle-mark, through every gate.

And a gray-haired man beheld high glory as a child,

and fought before rebuke could chastise him.

He barred his ears from diversions,

and his robe's fringe from the dust.

He awes you, his character polished,

whenever he brandishes a blade with polished tip.

The spear's joints have occupied

his hands, keeping them from touching nubile maidens.

The mail's weight grew so light upon him

that his coats of mail seemed silken garments.

How often he rent the veil to reach a place

where the sun hid itself behind a veil.

When raids are launched with him,

the lives of warriors bearing battle-marks become spoils.

As though his swords among the tall lances

were streams flowing through a forest.

And horses he led under cover of night,

their tread sending the fire of battle flying.

When they darted from the darkness, they kindled

a raging torment against the renegades.

And many a foe whose flank he eyed, then pitted

his sword's broad blade against it in the clash.

The lines of bright swords were clear upon him,

as lines are clear within a book.

Virtues that fill the envious with rage,

and spare petitioners the need to petition.

And a judgment that enemies fear,

as though in it you were al-Faruq, the Companion.

Whoever you judge against loves you for it,

for judgment that heals, or rightness that suffices.

To you I led her as a virgin bride, seeking

the heart's veil, not the veils of a face-covering.

I melted the gold of rhymes to fashion her,

and she conveyed the luster of molten gold.

Kings exchanged her as a gift, as

fair women's hands exchanged strung scented necklaces.

She delights you, her meanings rising,

as wine with rising bubbles delighted you.