1. The companions made their parting final and rushed away,

    And left you with longing, whichever way they turned.

  2. They never ceased debating the matter among themselves;

    When distance carried their foremost beyond reach, they disagreed,

  3. Until they settled on what we had suspected of them,

    And sent the heart they had inflamed darting after its desire.

  4. They turned away, the desert hurling them across the land,

    For a spell; then they neither wheeled back nor returned.

  5. The mirage spread between us and the tribe; then grew taut

    The cords of parting among the spiteful, who wrought ruin.

  6. Mature camels held in reserve sped away with them,

    And the uplands they crossed without guidance screened them from view.

  7. The victim they treacherously betrayed met his doom;

    They owed no blood-money for him, nor swore an oath.

  8. They divided up his heart, then set out at dawn rejoicing,

    And forced it into tears that never ceased.

  9. Their women's caravan, in the mirage as they receded, seemed,

    When a desert waste or a height lifted them into view,

  10. Like palm trees where long-necked birds spend the night secure,

    Where tender shoots and fronds spread out from them.

  11. They raised patterned cloths of varied kinds, adorned

    By seated women, with chambers above them.

  12. Until, when they had outstripped the herd, there surged

    With them the lofty camel herd, like towering mountains:

  13. Each a tawny, mature camel, upon whose jowls

    Dark mottling had left its mark, though no vein had been struck.

  14. When they were urged by song, he surged ahead, yet was slowed

    Among their swift she-camels by his massive strength and heavy gait.

  15. In the curtained litters were finely fashioned statues, wide-eyed,

    Created fairer than any describer could say.

  16. They had found a worldly life that made them happy;

    And life is nothing but a pleasure on loan.

  17. When they spoke of a matter, they said its finest things,

    And turned away from every evil to be shunned.

  18. They had been the heart's care; now it is distraught,

    Love-struck for them, devoted even if they tormented it.

  19. Each a fair woman whose cheeks were never scorched

    By life's torment or straitened need.

  20. Among the company who spent the night was a pampered woman,

    Slender-waisted, never reared on life's privation.

  21. Like a male ostrich's egg in its nest, shielded all night

    From dew by the enfolding covert feathers of his wing.

  22. When night grew dark, he turned his vulnerable parts toward it;

    From love of it, emaciation had worn away his flesh.

  23. Huddled against a dark storm that battered him all night,

    From it came fine spray, and from it pouring, rushing rain.

  24. Or an icy wind from the rainclouds' drizzle, driven

    A little away from him by the clouds, then gusting fiercely.

  25. Dust-gray, it shook him until along with it flew

    Down from his plumage, loose at the roots and plucked away.

  26. He spent the night turning his breastbone's edge away from it,

    Lending it his wing, with his breast turned aside.

  27. As one hugs his daughter beneath a worn fur blanket,

    With his chest and hands—a grizzled, senile man.

  28. He had been given her in recompense for daughters once his,

    And for sons; death had carried them all away.

  29. Until, when the days had shaken out his vigor,

    And care and sorrow had flared in his temples,

  30. A woman bore her for him, after she had been accused

    Of barrenness on mere suspicion—a brazen, middle-aged woman.

  31. So she reached a branch of his heart that still remained,

    And he is ever fearful for her, trembling.

Sol 6.1