By Ja'far ibn 'Ulba al-Harithi

By Ja'far ibn 'Ulba al-Harithi, the mukhadram poet; he wrote it in prison, where he was passing his last night before being led out to die.

I marveled at her coming by night — how did she win through
to me, when the prison door was locked against me?
She drew near and gave greeting, then rose and bade farewell,
and when she turned away, my soul all but fled.
Do not think that, since you left, I have bowed down
before anything, or that I go in fear of death —
and how could I, when in my hand is a sharpened sword
that bites into the crowns of men and holds fast? —
nor that my heart is swayed by their threats,
nor that I am clumsy, walking in chains.
But a burning love for you came over me,
such as I used to feel from you when I was free.
My love and my affection still soar
toward you, while my body lies fettered in Mecca.