My gorge rose, yet I stopped my ears. I had no hope, but I was tarred
With fame too much to show my fears. My duty lay in dying hard.
Oh irony! That fame increased the more its robes were patched and pieced.
My whole ambition was fulfilled when power and confidence had ceased.
The women kissed my feet, my horse; they clung to me like my remorse.
I that set out to make the world had made myself believe by force.
Nay, I that knew we were reprieved at best, had I in truth believed?
My youth came back. I seemed to meet my tutor's sneer in every street.
Fate cursed us with three minor kings, a leper then. Against these Things
Salah-ad-Din combined the entire orient. I wished our fate had wings