قلت لما أزمع الحي الرحيلا — Alshaghouri

I said, when the clan resolved to depart:

O camel-driver, treat them with a little gentleness.

Halt the mounts gently for a moment,

and leave off the swift stride, and beware the trot.

And take your time now; consider it

a favor from you—it is nothing new for you to give.

Indeed, within the litters are moons of the dark night,

and suns accustomed to deep shade.

My father be the ransom of those plump, soft calves,

and waists bearing a heavy burden.

Around the slender waists, girdles swayed,

delicate, while the calves choked their anklets.

Bearing aloft massive haunches,

each rump exhausting a slender waist.

And if the curtains are drawn back for us from the

graceful women at parting, we bid our reason farewell.

And each of us came to imagine, from

his drunkenness, that he had been served cool, spiced wine.

Then we see none but a slayer,

whose languid eyelids have struck a man dead.

Lady of the face-veil, turn aside once,

and remove it, so we may quench our burning thirst.

And perhaps your glance, now grown languid,

may, by its magic, heal the ailing lover.

Indeed, in your mouth is swift healing for him,

if he begins to sip Salsabil from it.

She said: Begone! Woe to you! Do not hope—for many

a lover's hope has struck him down dead.

For the noble ladies of Banu Udhra—how often

have they stolen minds with beauty and coquetry!

Every slender-waisted, ample-hipped, soft-skinned woman—

her beauty is the primal substance of beauty in creation.

And by my life, my heart because of you is in

a burning anguish that has lodged a deep-seated sickness within it.

Yet fear of the jealousy of the sons of my

paternal uncle has forced me to put you out of mind.

Do you not see the tall brown lances leveled,

and noble-bred horses neighing aloud,

and keen blades licking their lips with venom,

and the tall lances bending, slender and supple,

and Sabiri coats of mail pouring forth

pools seeking a channel over the horses,

and my cousins, intent on

war, summoning troop after troop?

And whenever a borrower calls out my name,

he angers the proud-nosed, mighty champions.

And battle's lions rush forth with their lances,

filling rugged ground and plains with horses,

in a charge that fills the horizon with dust,

and a stand that fills the ear with clanging.

And armored warriors—you see none but men generous

with wealth among them, but jealous of their honor.

For if they charged one day against Thabir,

they would surely turn it into a mound of crumbling sand.

They have never ceased to bare their swords

for combat, or to feed a guest.