III
As a man who sleeps ill after a protracted feast, I heard her answer, saying:
“Is it true thou hast come to me, or is this a dream?”
“Verily, it is true!” answered the accursed, the vile, the unspeakable Ahzab, my brother—for it was he. “From the time when I first saw thee, neither sleep hath been sweet to me, nor hath wine possessed the slightest flavor! I have come to thee thus, fragrant bloom of the pomegranate, because I would not have thee see me in a posture so undignified as that of one crouched in a box! So that thy people might be compelled to give me access to thine apartments, I have put a mendicant in my place, rendering the chest heavy!”
And she said, “Thou art welcome!” and embraced him.
By Allah (whose name be exalted), I gnawed my beard until I choked!
“Thou art changed, beloved!” she said to him; “thou art always beautiful, but to-day thou seemest less rosy-cheeked to mine eyes!”
The accursed Ahzab, like an enraged mule, kicked the box wherein I dissolved in flames of wrath.
“I am burnt up with love and longing for thee!” he replied. “O my love! how beautiful thou art!”