Of tears flows through the rock and down the mountain,
Whence beast and bird may drink; but she, in chains,
Fixed in the path of all the winds remains.
This tomb holds naught, this woman hath no tomb:
To be both grave and body is her doom.
Lament XVI
Misfortune hath constrainèd me
To leave the lute and poetry,
Nor can I from their easing borrow
Sleep for my sorrow.