Thorns roses yield; our bodies joys of soul foretaste.
By workings of the pang of love for Him I burn;
Though sophistlike I rave, ’tis unto Him I turn.
Another stratagem the Vazīr next conceived;
From public life withdrew, and solitude achieved.
Admiring followers all were fain to mourn his loss;
For forty days, and more, in cell he bore his cross.
Their yearning for him grew more fierce from day to day;
They missed his good example, words, and zeal to pray.240
They grieved that he in solitude should vex his flesh;