Have the poets left in the garment a place for a patch to be patched by me; and did you know the abode of your beloved after reflection? 2 The vestige of the house, which did not speak, confounded thee, until it spoke by means of signs, like one deaf and dumb. Verily, I kept my she-camel there long grumbling, with a yearning at the blackened stones, keeping and standing firm in their own places. It is the abode of a friend, languishing in her glance, submissive in the embrace, pleasant of smile.