There greets them when they come home full many a handmaid fine,
and ready, on trestles, hang the mantles of scarlet silk.
Yea, softly they wrap their limbs, well-knowing of wealth and ease,
in rich raiment, white-sleeved, green at the shoulder--in royal guise.
They look not on Weal as men who know not that Woe comes, too:
they look not on evil days as though they would never mend.
Lo, this was my gift to Ghassân, what time I sought
My people; and all my paths were darkened, and strait my ways.