When it was the Eight Hundred and Fifty-seventh Night； She pursued，It hath reached me，O auspicious King，that Zayn al-Mawasif wrote the following reply to Masrur's missive：'This letter to my lord and master I indite * the king of my heart and my secret sprite * Indeed，wakefulness agitateth me * and melancholy increaseth on me * and I have no patience to endure the absence of thee * O thou who excellest sun and moon in brilliancy * Desire of repose despoileth me * and passion destroyeth me * and how should it be otherwise with me，seeing that I am of the number of the dying？ *O glory of the world and Ornament of life，she whose vital spirits are cut off shall her cup be sweet to quaff？ * For that she is neither with the quick nor with the dead.'And she improvised these couplets and said；'Thy writ，O Masrār，stirred my sprite to pine * For by Allah；all patience and solace I tyne：
When I read thy ure，my vitals yearned * And watered the herbs of the wold these eyne.
On Night's wings I'd fly an a bird * And sans thee I weet not the sweets of wine：
Life's unlawful to me since thou faredst far * To bear parting-lowe is no force of mine.'