A sun (1) of tomorrow that mirrors the sun now gone—her cheek, in its very radiance (2), is lit from his.
It disappears within his mouth, yet after that it rises again upon his cheek.

Al-Ḥāfiẓ al-Bayhaqī relates, through his teacher al-Ḥākim, from Abū al-Faḍl Naṣr ibn Muḥammad al-Ṭūsī, who said: Abū Bakr al-Ṣanawbari recited to us, saying (3):
Grey hairs have razed what youth once built,
And the lovely maidens grow wrathful when disobeyed.
Ebony has turned to ivory; at this sight
Eyes and hearts alike are overturned.
Outright folly it is to loathe the falcon, for all its grace,
Yet to dote on the crow. (4)

He also said—cited by Ibn ʿAsākir about a son of his who, once weaned, wept for the breast (5):
They denied him the thing he loved most,
More than all mankind and more than his own parents.
They withheld his sustenance, though it had been
Lawful for him and within his very reach.
A marvel it is: so slight in years, yet love
Has reached him, and separation has found its way to him.

Among those who also died in this period was (6) Ibrāhīm ibn Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad, known as Ibn al-Muwallad, Abū Isḥāq the Sufi preacher of Raqqa. He was one of its leading shaykhs, transmitted hadith, and kept company with Abū ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Jallād of Damascus, al-Junayd, and others.

Those who narrated from him include Tammām ibn Muḥammad and Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Sulamī. Ibn ʿAsākir records of his poetry these lines (7):
For you there is, despite the distance, a share of me
That no beloved attained through closeness.
A veil bars my gaze from all but you,
And over my heart, because of your love, stands a watch.
Your love adorns my sight and my heart,
Though passion therein is wayward and alloyed.
How can the physician’s nearness benefit the sick,
When you are the one who made him ill—and you are the physician?