Another Poem in the Same Vein

Light of the faith, you whose very being is a mine of art; and what is that mine? It is nothing but pure jewels from end to end. Whoever carries the love of you in their head is kept alive, like a candle by the light of the heart. For the young bride that is your mind, the sky's caskets are brimming with ornaments. Amber comes from the sea, so why wonder? Your sea of poetry sits at the very heart of amber. Since it saw that jewel-bearing nature of yours, the sea's hem is wet with shame. You ask for poetry, but your servant has for some time now grown distant from verse and poets. If poetry once had its glory, in this age it is strangely scorned. Wherever there was a circle of learning and virtue, all its ears are now deaf and shut to it. The nightingale of my nature sings less, because the branch of generosity is stripped of leaf and fruit. The ship of those with talent has run aground, for the waters have found another channel. That is why I keep silent like a lily, for this crowd, like the narcissus, has eyes fixed only on gold. In any house where a daughter is born, silence there is fitting and proper. Why should I not be silent, when out of my words so many daughters have been born at my side? As long as the work of art stays like this, pity the poor soul who nurtures meaning. Still, I have sent a few lines in your service, so you may know this servant obeys your command. In serving you I need no excuse; your own kindness pleads on this servant's behalf.