A Dirge for Her Brother Sakhr
When night draws on, remembering keeps me wakeful
And hinders my rest with grief upon grief returning
For Sakhr. What a man was he on the day of battle,
When, snatching their chance, they swiftly exchange the spear-thrusts!
Ah, never of woe like this in the world of spirits
I heard, or of loss like mine in the heart of a woman.
What fortune might send, none stronger than he to bear it;
None better to meet the troubles with mind unshaken;
The kindest to help, wherever the need was sorest:
They all had of him a boon — wife, friend, and suitor.
O Sakhr! I will ne'er forget thee until in dying
I part from my soul, and earth for my tomb is cloven.
The rise of the sun recalls to me Sakhr my brother,
And him I remember also at every sunset.
And hinders my rest with grief upon grief returning
For Sakhr. What a man was he on the day of battle,
When, snatching their chance, they swiftly exchange the spear-thrusts!
Ah, never of woe like this in the world of spirits
I heard, or of loss like mine in the heart of a woman.
What fortune might send, none stronger than he to bear it;
None better to meet the troubles with mind unshaken;
The kindest to help, wherever the need was sorest:
They all had of him a boon — wife, friend, and suitor.
O Sakhr! I will ne'er forget thee until in dying
I part from my soul, and earth for my tomb is cloven.
The rise of the sun recalls to me Sakhr my brother,
And him I remember also at every sunset.
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