Sickness is
unceasing upon me and my yearning redoubles ever; desire
increases still and longing rages in my heart. I pray God to
hasten our union and dispel the trouble of my mind: and I would
fain have thee write me some words, that I may solace myself
withal. Moreover, I would have thee put on a becoming patience,
till God give relief; and peace be on thee.' When Ali ben Bekkar
had read this letter, he said, 'With what hand shall I write and
with what tongue shall I make moan and lament? Indeed she addeth
sickness to my sickness and draweth death upon my death!' Then he
sat up and taking inkhorn and paper, wrote the following reply:
'In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. O my lady,
thy letter hath reached me and hath given ease to a mind worn out
with passion and desire and brought healing to a wounded heart,
cankered with languishment and sickness; for indeed I am become
even as saith the poet:
Bosom contracted and grievous thought dilated, Eyes ever wakeful
and body wearied aye;
Patience cut off and separation ever present, Reason disordered
and heart all stolen away.
Know that complaining quenches not the fire of calamity; but it
eases him whom love-longing consumes and separation destroys; and
so I comfort myself with the mention of the word "union;" for how
well saith the poet:
If love had not pain and pleasure, satisfaction and despite,
Where of messengers and letters were for lovers the
delight?'
When he had made an end of this letter, he gave it to Aboulhusn,
saying, 'Read it and give it to the damsel.
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