|On me no subtle brain though Nature spent,|
My dust hides strength to dare the high ascent—
|That frantic dust whose eye outranges reason,|
Dust by whose madness Gabriel’s rose is rent;
|That will not creep about its garden gathering|
Straw for a nest—un-housed and yet content.
|And Allah to this dust a gift of tears|
Whose brightness shames the constellations, lent.
Translated by: V.G. Kiernan