Accordingly the nurse returned to El Abbas, without letter or answer; and when she came in to him, he saw that she was troubled and noted the marks of chagrin on her face; so he said to her, “What is this plight?” Quoth she, “I cannot set out to thee that which Mariyeh said; for indeed she charged me return to thee without letter or answer.”  “O nurse of kings,” rejoined El Abbas, “I would have thee carry her this letter and return not to her without it.”  Then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: 

My secret is disclosed, the which I strove to hide; Of thee and
     of thy love enough have I abyed. 
My kinsmen and my friends for thee I did forsake And left them
     weeping tears that poured as ’twere a tide. 
Yea, to Baghdad I came, where rigour gave me chase And I was
     overthrown of cruelty and pride. 
Repression’s draught, by cups, from the beloved’s hand I’ve
     quaffed; with colocynth for wine she hath me plied. 
Oft as I strove to make her keep the troth of love, Unto
     concealment’s ways still would she turn aside. 
My body is dissolved with sufferance in vain; Relenting, ay, and
     grace I hoped should yet betide;
But rigour still hath waxed on me and changed my case And love
     hath left me bound, afflicted, weeping-eyed. 
How long shall I anights distracted be for love Of thee?  How long
     th’ assaults of grief and woes abide? 
Thou, thou enjoy’st repose and comfortable sleep, Nor of the
     mis’ries reckst by which my heart is wried. 
I watch the stars for wake and pray that the belov’d May yet to
     me relent and bid my tears be dried. 
The pains of long desire have wasted me away; Estrangement and
     disdain my body sore have tried. 
“Be thou not hard of heart,” quoth I. Had ye but deigned To visit
     me in dreams, I had been satisfied. 
But when ye saw my writ, the standard ye o’erthrew Of faith, your
     favours grudged and aught of grace denied. 
Nay, though ye read therein discourse that sure should speak To
     heart and soul, no word thereunto ye replied,
But deemed yourself secure from every changing chance Nor recked
     the ebb and flow of Fortune’s treacherous tide. 
Were my affliction thine, love’s anguish hadst thou dreed And in
     the flaming hell of long estrangement sighed. 
Yet shall thou suffer that which I from thee have borne And with
     love’s woes thy heart shall yet be mortified. 
The bitterness of false accusing shall thou taste And eke the
     thing reveal that thou art fain to hide;
Yea, he thou lov’st shall be hard-hearted, recking not Of
     fortune’s turns or fate’s caprices, in his pride. 
Wherewith farewell, quoth I, and peace be on thee aye, What while
     the branches bend, what while the stars abide.