Another of his compositions (1):

At the loss of the Taymī youth, tears stream forth, and the hard-cooing doves burst into lament.
They drown eyelids already inflamed by weeping and ignite the fires hidden within the ribs (2).
Water can quench every blaze, yet our fire is only fanned inside our breasts by tears (3).
As for those loud-voiced doves, they are birds of death whose calls strike hearts and shatter them.
Indeed, it befits a youth whose mosques once filled with worshippers that even the mosques themselves should mourn his passing (4).
Over a noble soul whose sublime exploits have found sure lodging in the hearts of those who know:
learning, noble character, honor, generosity, lofty glory, and humility;
asceticism, selflessness, piety, and chastity—virtues he gathered while still in the bloom of youth.
He was the ḥabr; knotty problems found easy solutions in his hands, and in resolving them he was unmatched.
The bonds of religion were firm in his grasp, and for their sake he met his foes with lofty proofs (5).
An imām whose earth and sky alike bewailed him with sorrowful weeping, their grief unbroken, wave after wave.