 My heart was made dark with grief, and whatever I looked upon was death. My homeland was to me a prison, a father's house, a place of unhappiness to stun the heart, and whatever I used to share with my friend, without him became a cruel torment. My eyes sought him everywhere, and he was not to be found. And I hated all things because he was not there, and they could not say to me, look here he comes, as when he was alive and had been away for a time. Weeping was the only thing I found sweet, and it took the place of my friend and my soul's delights.