But for the hope of reward from Allah, no one renowned for patience could be praised for bearing a calamity such as this.

The suns of every noble quality have set; the radiant land of Damascus has darkened and its light has departed.

The light of that Taymī youth—the polar star about which the whole firmament of learning once revolved—

that scholar through whom the age itself took pride, whose brilliance pierced the night and cast its glow abroad,

that emblem of worship, renunciation, and God-fearing devotion—his reputation is proclaimed across the world.

Firmly rooted in every beneficial science, his speech was celebrated among all people.

He was a breast among the breasts; since his departure the hearts of the eminent have felt constricted.

No wonder that scalding tears have poured for him and that backs have been bent beneath the weight of grief.

The heavens weep for him, and so does the earth, whose pristine face is now clouded by his absence.

His prayer-niche, his pulpit, the place of his lesson, and the thronged mosque all mourned him.

Even the clouds lamented his loss, and rocks split open as eyes poured rivers of tears for him.

Likewise the ladies of the inner chambers wept for him, and the veils that once concealed them were torn in anguish.

The slender tamarisk branches unfurled their tips for him like loosened tresses—though they have no hair—

and over the arāk shrubs doves bent low, mourning him in sorrow, though they are but birds.

⦗147⦘ So, if the passionate lover lets his tears flow after the death of the one he loves, he is surely excused.

All people grieve for him, yet he is a servant overjoyed at meeting his Lord (1).

Out of protective jealousy Allah removed him from those other than Himself, for the lover is indeed jealous.

He secluded him, letting him recite His words, and the Beloved kept him company and consoled him—

until, when longing grew intense, He escorted him as a bride is escorted, her flowing train trailing behind her.