TOWERING as Barkaidy's face,
  The wintry night came in,
Cold as the music of his bass,
  And lengthened as his chin.

Sleep from my aching eyes had fled,
  And kept as far apart
As sense from Ebn Fadhi's head,
  Or virtue from his heart.

The dubious paths my footsteps balked,
  I slipped along the sod,
As if on Jaber's faith I'd walked,
  Or on his truth had trod.

At length the rising King of Day
  Burst on the gloomy wood,
Like Carawash's eye, whose ray
  Dispenses every good.