To my lady, the accomplished woman of letters, Salma Sayegh.

Peace be upon you. To proceed: I have this hour read your published poem “To My Daughter,” and I was moved by it to a degree that left me unable to write you a single word.

The spirit that uttered this tremendous cry, in its beauty, has no need of praise — so I shall not praise you. And the heart that sent forth this holy flame does not lack encouragement — so I shall not encourage you. But I want to thank you. I want to thank you, my lady, to satisfy my own soul, and to show my admiration for you in proof of my feelings — are not thanks and admiration among the orderings of selfishness?

It is my belief that Easterners in general, and Eastern women in particular, stand in need of this kind of literature. They are in pressing need of this charge of living, native, winged feeling that prays and suffers and smiles and weeps. They are in aching need of the voices that rise from the hidden places of the soul, and of the thirst that issues from the breasts of those who seek the fire.

Be pleased to accept my highest respect, joined with my best wishes. May God keep you, my lady, and watch over your daughter.

Yours faithfully, Gibran Khalil Gibran

New York, October 26, 1921