When the night approaches, the night so dread and drear to those
that love, We are oppressed with grief; but they rejoice,
when the night draws near.
Had they but drunken our bitter cup and suffered of our dole,
Then were their nights as ours, as long and full of heavy
cheer.
"Thou hast acquitted thee rarely, O my friend," said I, "and hast
done away from me the pangs of sorrow. Let me hear more trifles
of thy fashion." So he sang these verses:
So a man's honour be unstained and free of all impair, Lo, every
garment that he dights on him is fit and fair.
She taunted me, because, forsooth, our numbers were but few; But
I "The noble," answer made, "are ever few and rare."
It irks us nought that we are few and eke our neighbour great,
For all the neighbours of most folk are scant and mean
elsewhere;
For we're a folk, that deem not death an evil nor reproach,
Albeit Aamir and Seloul so deem, of their despair.
The love of death that is in us brings near our ends to us, But
theirs, who loathe and rail at it, are long and far to fare.
We, an it like us, give the lie to others of their speech; But,
when we speak, no man on earth to gainsay us doth dare.
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