and the riders pressed on while the darkness lay motionless,
as though they were but secrets lodged in the heart of night.
They hurried on, the long necks bending
toward the place where, for the sleepers, pillows are their saddle-packs. (1)
Another of his poems:
My era turned against me, unaware
that I am held in honor and the events of time are trifling.
All night it showed me the full extent of its assault,
while I spent the night showing it what patience means. (2)
And another:
We halted at Nuʿmān of the arak trees, where the dew
fell till our cloaks were soaked.
I passed the night wrestling with yearning while the caravan slept,
worn down by the night march and the empty wastes.
I remember a maiden; when distance calls me to her,
my flowing tears answer her love.
She has a dwelling among the camps in that ravine;
though the eye may deny it, the heart still knows. (3)
Muḥammad ibn Ṭāhir the ḥāfiẓ said: Abū al-Muẓaffar al-Abīwardī recited to us from his own verse:
O you who would compete with me yet can never match my stride—
how could you attain the majesty of my station?
Spare yourself; easier than what you seek
would be stripping a qatad thorn or mounting a star.
Glory itself knows which of us has the nobler sire—(4)
ask it and you will learn(5) whose lineage is truly mine.