“Messenger of Allah, allow me and this enemy of Allah—I will strike off his head!”
The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, replied, “Leave him be; he has come repentant, turning back.”

Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr was angered with that clan of the Anṣār because of what their man had attempted; none of the Emigrants had spoken of him except with praise. He therefore recited, in the ode he composed on arriving before the Messenger of Allah—peace and blessings be upon him—(1) in the basīṭ metre:

Suʿād has gone; today my heart is sorely pierced,
Enslaved in her wake, bound fast, with no ransom released.

On the dawn of parting, when she showed herself to me,
She was a graceful maiden, shy-eyed, her lids dark with kohl.

When she smiles she reveals the edges of pearly teeth,
Like lips still moist with wine after an ailment’s cure.

She cooled my thirst with draughts from a curved, cool vessel—
Clear water in a sandy bed, its surface veiled.

The wind sweeps every mote away and, brimming it still more,
White drops fall gently from a passing morning cloud.

Ah, what friendship hers would be, were she but true
To the promise she made, or if good counsel found a hearing!

Yet hers is a bond whose very blood is mixed
With grief, obsession, broken word and change.

She never stays the same for long—
Like the desert ghoul that keeps exchanging robes.

She clings to no covenant she claims to keep,
No more than sieves can hold the water poured through them.

So let not the gifts she offers or the pledges she proclaims deceive you;
Hopes and dreams are but delusion.

The false vows of ʿIrqūb were coined as a proverb for her;
Her promises are nothing but lies.

I hope and expect they may come quickly—yet forever
I think that time will never hasten their arrival.

Suʿād now dwells in a land none reaches
Save fleet, thoroughbred she-camels sped on urgent missions.

None will attain her save a speckled dromedary
That, when weariness comes, alternates between pacing and trotting.

Each one pours pungent sweat when it perspires;
Broad-flanked, it wipes away all landmarks, untraceable.

She hurls the reins across high ground with the eyes of a glossy stallion
When ridges and slopes alike flare with midday heat.

Huge is her neck, ample the girth about her belly;
In build she outshines the daughters of every stud.

Her brother and her sire spring from a noble, mixed-bred line;
Her uncle and mother’s brother are tall and long of stride.

Ticks crawl upon her, then slip away at once,
For her breast and thighs are sleek and glossy.

A bay she-camel, she has cast off saddle-sores from her broad back;
The sinews of her foreleg are tighter than those of burden-bearers.

Her two hips arch; to the discerning eye
Her noble blood is plain, and smoothness lies upon her cheeks.

What lies between her eyes and where the throat is split—
From muzzle to jaw—is like a broad, tight strap.

She speeds along like a palm stalk laden with tufts,
On a mount whose girths have never proved untrue.

(1) The celebrated ode that later came to be known as “Bānat Suʿād.”