Restrain my eyes, should they taste—after losing sight of you—the sweetness of slumber upon their lids.
And I would—at the loss(1) of your very person—that the mourning doves hover over my thicket.
By my life! You whose remembrance lies buried in my heart—a grave whose permanence lasts as long as I endure—
If your body now dwells in the earth, your spirit, O son of ʿAbd al-Salam, has taken up its abode in the Abode of Peace.
So may every cloud, with torrents and with drizzle alike, water the soil that wraps you;
And when the evening and morning rains(2) grow miserly, we shall lavish upon you our tears—flowing, blood-tinged.

And he—may Allah pardon them both(3)—also said:

At the news of your demise the death-announcer deafened and made to hear alike, and even the solid rock ⦗143⦘ split beneath the shock of grief.
How many an eye grew dry and rigid from sorrow,
And how many a heart streamed tears upon tears;
How many a bereaved soul echoed wails and dirges,
And how many a man of excellence broke into elegies in verse and prose.
No seeker of knowledge or ascetic among humankind remained who was not left heavy-hearted and anguished at your loss.
The world turned grim for every knower who beheld your once-inhabited dwellings now desolate.