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71. Mount Tebeir stands in the heights of the flood, like a venerable chief wrapped in a striped mantle.
72. The summit of Mogaimir, covered with the rubbish which the torrent has rolled down, looks in the morning like the top of a spindle encircled with wool.
73. The cloud unloads its freight on the desert of Ghabeit, like a merchant of Yemen alighting with his bales of rich apparel.
74. The small birds of the valley warble at daybreak, as if they had taken their early draught of generous wine mixed with spice.
75. The beasts of the wood, drowned in the floods of night, float, like the roots of wild onions, at the distant edge of the lake.
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