Your speech, when you give generously,
Is the bees' harvest in the milk of a mother-camel:
"By my life, you are the home whose people I honour
And I sit in its shades, in the late afternoon".
The white honey—whose drone shelters
In eaves which defied whoever climbs and descends—
Is not more pleasant than her mouth, nor more delicious
If I come at night, when the dogs of the low valleys sleep.