Qasidas

Kindness is obsolete, loyalty gone; of both, only the name remains, like the phoenix or the alchemist's stone: legendary, never seen. Honesty has turned to betrayal, cleverness to folly; friendship to enmity, and decency to cruelty. All the customs of people have been turned upside down by this cheating world and this faithless sky. Every wise man sits tested in some corner; every learned man is struck by some disaster. And there is the one who now brags along the way: 'Where among all people is there a discerning man like me?' He can't tell the madman from the sane; he picks the stranger over the friend. Every group boasts arrogantly against the others, unaware that true greatness is never found that way. Whoever has read the opening verse of the chapter 'Has there not come' will never turn his reins toward arrogance. Yet even though arrogance is a blameworthy habit, for the noble, humility only brings trouble. If I did not force myself into humility, I would not suffer scorn from every wretch and pain from everyone. Though outwardly I look equal to fools, in the end there is surely a difference between us. The worth of kings shows through their strength, just as the emerald, though it looks like grass, is far more precious. From all people, two things have been my lot: hostility from enemies and hypocrisy from friends. One cannot trust the enemies, and one cannot lean on the friends. A crowd has taken up the path of quarreling with me, people without sense, without competence, without merit, without cleverness. I am like that crowd only in bodily form; a sword resembles a leek only in color. Their fight with me is stranger still than an ant setting out to battle a dragon. I feel not a speck of fear of them: no glass can do harm to a millstone. Their hearts split open with hatred of me, like the moon split apart at the Prophet's pointing finger. When I take up the pen to write true meanings, all the claims of that lot dissolve into nothing. The sorcerers' reputation is bound to shatter wherever Moses holds his staff in hand. They will win no rank among people so long as their nature is empty of all knowledge. For a cloud has no value without rain, just as a blade has no worth without a fine edge. Beside my excellence, their deficiency stands exposed, like the disbelievers' helplessness before the prophets' miracles. Against my intellect, even Mars has no power; against my brilliance, even the sun has no radiance. I am the one who has carried the banner of knowledge through the world, from the earth's core up to the corner of the Pleiades. Kings take pride in my learning; my peers follow the model of my verse. With my luminous mind and my clear judgment, I am like lightning in the dark and the sun at midday. My ambition is lofty at all times, like the sky; my lineage is pure toward every kind, like the open air. My words are proof of my high ambition; my words are witness to my noble lineage. No one has ever seen or heard from me an unworthy deed or an improper word. I have not scattered pearls at the feet of fools, nor accepted gifts from the hands of the base. This pride is enough for me: no one has ever found blame in my prose or slander in my verse. And whoever befriends me, I seek his love in return and praise him with all my soul. And if a slip of his becomes plain to see, I count it as right and refuse to call it a fault. The people of Herat will not know my worth until the day I must depart from this place. People do not grasp the sun's true value until its light leaves the sky. Then they know its worth for certain, when night comes and the faint star Suha appears in the heavens. A free, noble man has no standing at home, just as a ruby holds no worth while still in the rock. Even so, I have no complaint on this account: what better welcome could I have found at the start? As long as my speech flows with eloquence, my currency stands accepted among the great. But when I suffer a hundred thousand wrongs from someone, I have no choice but to reveal a little of the story. My grievance is this: a certain group claims closer friendship with me than anyone in the world, and yet they will not draw a single breath to please me. When was this ever the rule of friendship? They deliberately draw my pain onto themselves, the way straw draws amber toward itself. Everywhere they envy my excellence; from every side they take pleasure in my faults. Toward those who wish me well they plot nothing but discord; toward those who envy me they show nothing but warmth. And if in my whole life a need should ever befall me, they abandon my company without any reason. A real man is one who does not turn his face from friendship, even if the mountains were leveled or the sky split apart.

When my beloved fastens a golden belt around that silvery waist, whoever sees it, how could they ever set their heart on silver or gold? Anyone who foolishly gives his heart to loving that sweet boy must give up all hope for his own sweet life, as I have. Sometimes he hangs a sash of musky hair down over roses, sometimes he binds the moon in chains of his pitch-black curls. From loving him my world shrinks to the ring of a signet, as his curls twist into loops of amber, one within the other. My mouth falls open like an arrow, my back bends like a bow, when he deliberately drapes that musky ringlet over that silver shield of a face. Whoever loses his heart to that candle among the beauties of Kashgar turns golden-faced like a candle, weeping tears, his heart aflame. I am like the rose and the narcissus, my collar torn, my head bowed low, because he keeps growing more graceful than any fresh box-tree over the lily. With that musky chain and those sugary lips like ruby, in a single day he binds a hundred thousand hearts, more even than mine. Sometimes those twisted, curling locks pour out my blood, sometimes those black, heart-sweetening eyes steal away my sleep. Whoever binds his heart in that chain full of musk and those lips full of sugar becomes sugar in water, becomes musk in fire. Sometimes he veils his silken face beneath hyacinth curls, sometimes he ties an amber mask over that fine Shushtar-woven cloth. From longing for his face the rose appears from the clay each year, and when it sees his face, out of shame it packs its bags to leave. Whoever pins his hopes on union with that silver-breasted idol becomes worthless in people's eyes, like counterfeit coin. Dear to great and common folk alike is the one who fixes his mind, as I do, forever on praising the renowned lord. Athir al-Din, Trustee of the Realm, Ornament of the State, that chief at whose court Fortune girds herself for service every day. Abu Mansur Nasr ibn Ali, from whose judgment, if it grants leave, the sky belts its waist with Gemini in his service. Like the moon split by the Prophet's finger, stone would crack in fear of him, if ever, far from you, in his anger he fixed his eye on rock. A whole world stands in his perfection, and no wise man of sense would aim his ambition anywhere small while he exists. To multiply his followers, God forever shapes their forms in the womb from the drop of pure, sustaining water. When his steed charges it fits to split the twin stars apart, and when his lasso coils it locks around the throat of the fierce lion. The vision of his dread grips the sword of death itself, and the phoenix of his resolve ties down the decree of victory. The heavens have set their hopes on his lasting life the way the chameleon fixes on the sun and the oyster's heart on the rain. Fire would turn to fragrant herbs for them, as it did for Abraham, if in a moment of mercy he set his purpose on the people of hell. In matters of faith he brings order through the knowledge of Ali, and in matters of rule he sets the custom through the justice of Umar. If every other lord, chasing the whims of his own appetite, gives heart and soul to instruments of play and every kind of vain excess, wisdom leads this man to fix all his thought and ambition upon the means of true meaning and the masters of art. With the foot of his will he keeps trampling the head of Fate, and with the hand of his resolve he forever binds the feet of Destiny. O renowned chief, whose pen strokes decrees that even the Faithful Spirit, Gabriel, sets proudly upon his own head. And if such a rank were granted to him, out of envy the hand of heaven would draw a veil of shame across the face of the sun. Year in and year out the sky keeps its golden litter ready, hoping that his mount might one day be tethered behind its curtain. Any poet who praises you even once will grow unwilling ever after to set his mind on praising the noblest of mankind. When the whole wide sky lies before us, who thinks of the mere earth? When the encircling ocean is here, who sets his heart on a puddle? Whether a wild ass opens its mouth to praise you, or an ant girds itself to worship you, one part of your majesty could tame ferocious lions, and one part of your fortune could seal shut the jaws of striking serpents. The senses of anyone who bends his mind to praising you will never be dismissed by death; they last forever. Time takes up the pen of your proud praise in its fingers, and the stars fix the letter of your noble victory before their eyes. Though Hatim is famous for generosity, whoever sees your giving is amazed that anyone still tells old tales of him. Though Ahnaf is remembered for forbearance, whoever knows your wisdom finds it strange that anyone still repeats the story of him. The white falcon would become his servant by your support, if even the partridge took your high command upon its wings. O you for whose praise my nature has bound its thought so fully as a worshipper binds his mind at the hours of dawn. Sometimes it holds the finest wonders within its words, sometimes it fastens the most brilliant qualities upon its verses. Now it has fashioned a praise like an adorned bride, whose neck the tirewoman decks with jeweled necklaces. In the very manner that the great master Lami'i spoke, it draws a curtain from the dark night over the face of day. As long as the raining cloud, in the month of spring, fastens necklaces of pearl and ruby and turquoise on the branches of trees, may your station be such that every servant, however lowly, binds his belt in your service with turquoise and ruby and pearls.

Dark night raised its banner over the bright moon, and with ground musk it wrote its mark upon the pink rose. A chain of black pitch, an ornament of fragrant perfume, it drew across a cheek like the moon and a face red as dyewood. The God of the throne drew a musky line, a torment for all people, across the face of that idol like an open flower. My soul lives in loving him, my heart in his absence; the one saw much cruelty, the other endured endless injustice. When heaven set its seal on the document of his beauty, it struck out the names of all the fair ones of the age. In love I am unmatched, and in beauty he has no equal; glorious and exalted is the One who brought us together. Suddenly, with a hundred tricks and spells, he stole from me the very heart that had borne so much pain and grief for his sake. Everyone whose work led him into the service of that great lord became honored in the eyes of the powerful. From the fish beneath the earth and the lowest depths of the ground, up to the face of the moon and the height of the Pleiades, he raised his banner. As a turtle pulls its head back among the stones, so, before his generosity, need withdrew its head into nothingness. O master, the banner of your fortune and rank has carried the realm up to the sky of glory and high ambition. Since the Majestic One raised your honor higher, many an envious rival has heaved sighs of regret over you. In the surging waves of the sea of holy law, like a crocodile your sword swallowed the ship of heresy in a single gulp. Whoever stepped outside the desire of your command, the hand of death dragged his soul from his body into sorrow. The branch of the tree of your fortune grew broad with shade once its roots drank moisture from the cloud of your bounty. From dread of your rock-splitting sword, the enemy, like a hedgehog, pulled his head into his belly. Your throne made its home beside the stars; your judgment pitched its tent at the edge of the Milky Way. When the female onager recognized her cub through your justice, out of safety she led it into the den of the lion of the thicket. The road of your petitioner became like the road of the galaxy, so heavy with the coins he carried home from your giving. Everyone who suffered pain from the turning of this harsh age found rest in the shelter of your rank. As long as strange tales are told of how Abraha, in his unbelief, led an army toward the Sacred House, may heaven carry your saddle-cloth forever, just as the wind once bore Jamshid's throne.

These signs that appeared through the grace of God, and this good news that came with the king's victory. From the scale of that power the faith will gain strength, and from the fame of it the state will endure. Though the sultan has already won many victories, from which people's esteem for him has only grown, The record of this conquest, which will remain in the world, is a keepsake sweeter than a hundred thousand tales of the Shahnameh. When a band in Iraq rose up in falsehood, it became a duty for the just king to crush them. And to defeat them, his victorious banner chose to move out of Khorasan in the dead of winter. They were an army like demons, swine, ghouls, and bears: dark of mind, brazen of face, life-plundering, deceit-dealing. Wholly heedless of the decree of God the helper, each one deluded by the borrowed fortune of a fleeting world. In their ferocity they rivaled the raging lion, and in their error they marched in step with the white demon. For a whole year they roamed the world, until a hundred thousand men gathered in one place. Stirring up chaos was their constant trade; smearing on false colors was their perpetual disguise. Whoever they caught, whether low or noble, they beheaded with the sword and strung up on the gallows. At times, out of cruelty, they bound strangers; at times, out of cowardice, they slaughtered captives without mercy. At times they publicly branded a Muslim an infidel; at times they openly called a true believer a heretic. Though from their tyranny and plunder, east and west, there was turmoil in the realms and terror on the roads, The king of the world, wishing to avoid bloodshed, advised them in every manner, many times over. When advice was rejected and God so decreed that their evil beliefs would in the end destroy them, The victorious army fell upon them suddenly, like a demon-burning meteor and a fierce raining cloud. When the two armies clashed and mingled, they gripped the fight like an enraged lion at the hunt. The air went dark with clouds of dust like smoke, and the earth ran red with drops of blood like sparks. The sultan's troops had honor joined to safety; the rebels had their resolve fixed only on flight. From the uproar the sun's disc looked like a sick face, and from the tremors the mass of mountains was like a paralyzed body. On the ground grew a yellow crop from the faces of the ill-wishers; in the air rose a crimson mist from the blood of the misguided. The galloping horses were shaped like wind, the whirling dust like clouds; the flashing swords like lightning, the wailing war-drums like thunder. When each lasso coiled and each steed strained, it was a restless dragon and a wheeling sky. The earth's back turned ruby-red, the face of the sky went indigo: one from the diamond of blades, the other from the ink-black dust. Like the hearts of lovers and the souls of the smitten, from men and maces the bodies' center grew tight and the way of souls went dark. A place adorned like the zodiac with sword and armor; a stand as terrible as Judgment Day with its clamor. Bulls writhing in the ground beneath the hooves of the day's lion-horses; the lion in the heavens lifeless from fear of the ox-headed mace. The warrior's back in enamel-blue mail was like the face of the sky; the blade's edge, dripping blood, was like a lizard's back. At times the plain, in its turmoil, wheeled swift as the heavens; at times the heavens, in their turmoil, stood grave as the plain. And from the abundant blood of traitors and schemers that flowed into the mountain slopes and the shores of the seas, Forever they will be born coral-hued and ruby-red: from the one an orphan pearl, from the other pure gold. Standing before the sultan's ranks, beneath his thigh, a steed sky-bodied, plain-leveling, river-crossing. A moon-swift, fish-formed mount that at every moment fitted the back of the fish with fresh shoes new as the crescent moon. It became a cave if its own bulk sank in like a mountain; a mountain rose if its hoof leaped down like a cave. Turning like the sky, its whirl blackening the sky's face; swimming like the fish in water, its stride wounding the fish's body. A mount like Duldul brought thus beneath the saddle, and a sword drawn from its sheath like Zulfiqar, Until the wound of his sword surrendered the souls of the enemies into the hand of the keeper of the house of ruin. Though that army, in treachery and multitude, was faithless as snakes and countless as ants, In flight, if only each of them could, they would sprout wings like an ant and shed their skin like a snake. Though the enemies had gathered every kind of might: beasts of burden, harness, weapons, and cavalry, When fate closed in on them from all four sides, in their hour of need none of those four availed them. And though the sultan had every needed tool at the ready, with a boundless army and a limitless battle line, He put down their evil without any weapon at all: his victory with his servants, his triumph with God. If they were permitted, to offer congratulations, now that the patient God had made his victory possible, The morning sun would come to him from its dawning place, and the trustworthy spirit Gabriel would come to him from the abode of peace. O you whose battlefield's air is like the ground of hell for the foe, and whose banquet-ground's earth is like the air of early spring. Granting the enemy quarter is your way in the world; for this God keeps you under his own protection. You refrained from harming defeated foes, though your harm was the very aim they sought in war. Though now and then a gnat may vex an elephant's heart, in battle the elephant scorns to take revenge on a gnat. O you at whose foot's dust the kings of the world find their strength, and by whose generous hand the sons of Adam find their ease. By the splendor of your judgment and the triumph of your banner, faith and world hold blessing on the right and prosperity on the left. By your justice the falcon sleeps with the partridge in one nest; by your safety the lion walks with the deer in one meadow. So many lands you have seized, so many battle lines you have broken, so many foes you have bound, so many fortresses you have opened. This by the grace of the Glorious God, that by the beauty of your faith; this by the fortune of heaven, that by the striving of time. Give thanks to the God of the world, for not one blessing remains that in eternity he did not lavish upon you as your portion. And never in this world has any wish crossed your blessed mind that was not granted to you without a wait. No wonder such is the state of one who has the ways of the praiseworthy for his mate and the fortune of the blessed for his companion. As long as, in the mixing of nature and substance and creation, the wind is fierce, the earth is yielding, the water is pure, and the fire is sharp, May your enemies, like fire, water, wind, and earth, have yellow faces, low standing, weak resolve, and the stamp of a thorn.

By the glory of blessed fortune, by the grace of God the judge, by the omen of a lucky star, by the striving of the green dome of heaven, the whole world, from east to west, was set free by Muizz al-Din wa'l-Dunya, the lord of the world, Sanjar. A world-ruler whose name, when it is spoken in the sermon, needs no preacher but the kingdom, no pulpit but the sky. With the blow of his sword that lord of heaven's might took hold; with fortune's help that binder of foes, that famous king, threw open the way. Land and city, soil and earth of Rome, India, Turk and China; realms and kingdoms, borders and marches, east and west, sea and shore. For a while the astrologers kept saying that the heavens would bring him some disaster, that a star would deal him ruin. But this dominion, against the will of the ill-wishers, prospered by the blessing of his lofty banner, by the work of the great Creator. All their rulings false, all their words slander, all their guesses flawed, all their calendars useless. What do star and sky know of doing good or ill, when one is a servant compelled to obey and the other a creature bound by force? Especially against a lord who, if he wished, could in one hour strip the star of its power and tear the ring off the heavens. How could a king suffer any change in his realm, when loosing and binding, seizing and releasing, peace and war, good and evil, are all his? His helper is God the Maker, his backer the lofty state, his herald blessed fortune, his counselor the faith-nurturing prince. The refuge of kingdom and state, the champion of east and west, who is the chief of chiefs and the pole of the Prophet's faith. A lord whom God the judge revealed to all creatures with their own eyes, here in this world, without the terrors of the Day of Gathering. His gathering is the garden of paradise, his palace a chamber of heaven, his character the shade of the blessed tree, his hand the fountain of Kawthar. The cloud stays forever, out of envy of his open, scattering hand: grim-faced and moaning, weeping, its heart aflame and its eyes wet. Opposing his love is the capital and foundation of unbelief; agreeing and warring with his enmity is the ornament and law of gain and harm. By him the faith of Ahmad the messenger is steadily adorned; by him the kingdom of the warrior-king is forever lit. As the sky by the sun, gold by its stamp, the head by its crown, the garden by its flowers; as the body by the soul, the eye by light, the brain by reason, the person by the head. If earth had not taken its solidity, water its purity, wind its lightness, and fire its light from his patience, mind, character, and judgment, the body of the earth would not be still, the essence of water not pure, the benefit of wind not widespread, the breath of fire not bright. From his arrow and spear, day and night, in mountain and thicket, the venomous serpent writhes and the fierce lion roars in fear. From dread of him the snake tucks its bead-marked coil into its tail; from terror of him the lion hides its heart within its claws. His presence is in the state, his place in the court, his survival in the world, his existence in the realm. Like the work of the sun in the sky, like the gift of the cloud in the garden, like the grace of light in the eye, like the flowing of the soul in the body. On the summit of heaven the Lion and Scorpion, the Dragon and Vulture, when he takes lance, arrow, battle-axe, and dagger in hand, from the point of one their heart splits, from the wound of another their blood boils; from the flash of one their body burns, from dread of another their feathers scatter. From sky and cloud, earth and constellation, thorn and worm, sea and mine, never, save by the effort of that young, high-starred fortunate one, does the sun shine, the dew fall, the flower smile, the moon glow, the manna grow, the silk come, the pearl be born, the gold arise. O prince, from your mace, spear, and pointed sword there is always, in thicket and sea, mountain and plain, the lions' bodies broken, the crocodiles' hearts split, the leopards' tails torn off, the deer's breasts ripped open. For your generosity and giving, your treasure and spending, there are always, from the turning of the sky, the working of time, the tears of the cloud, the reflection of the sun, the collar of the earth filled with gold, the lap of the stone with silver, the heart of the sea with pearls, the mouth of the mountain with gems, like the inner heart of the tulip, in the shape of the lily's robe, in the color of the wallflower's face, in the hue of the narcissus's eye. Your ill-wisher, from suffering, misfortune, pain, and grief, has black days, a ruined state, two eyes red as rubies, and a sallow face. In praise, the pen weeps on the paper only for your name; in revelry, the wine laughs in the cup only at the thought of you. No prince among the sons of Adam was ever like you; no eye ever saw your like, nor will it until the Day of Judgment. That is why the Sultan holds you dearer every day, for every hour the sight of you is more blessed to him. In love and friendship with you he is, thank God, as Moses was with Aaron and Ahmad with Haydar. No one in all the world is more tender toward you than he; no one in all the army is more devoted to him than you. If he gave you the royal pavilion, the drum, the kettledrum, and the banner, why should your enemies grieve over it? Do they not know that today, if you wished, by the emperor's favor you could set a crown on a hundred kings? My lord, from the moment you resolved on Herat, oppression's leg was cut and generosity's door thrown open. By the traces of your arrival the earth became like the highest paradise; by the banners of your army the air became like Azar's painted idol. All the people of Herat, high and low, man and woman, are joyful and glad of heart because of you, your servants and your commanded ones. They forever pray for your kingdom, all of them; they forever wish, one and all, for the long life of your years. In this resolve you have made, none but victory is your companion; in this purpose you hold, none but fortune is your guide. Since God's help and the Sultan's ambition are with you, you will set out in good fortune and arrive here in triumph. Although the fort of Tulak stands so high that its towers brush their heads against the constellation of Gemini, you will level it to a plain in a single hour, in the same fashion that the Commander of the Faithful, Haydar, brought down the fortress of Khaybar. O you by whose praise and blessing my mind and nature have become like a casket of gleaming pearls, like the tower of the shining planet Venus, from the moment your dear lips uttered my name, I set my tent on the palace roof and my foot upon the pivot of heaven. By your praise my poetry is famous in every place; by your favor my name is spoken in every assembly. At times, from praising you, my mouth becomes like a box of pearls; at times, from thanking you, my tongue becomes like an egg of ambergris. If my worth stays hidden in Herat, no matter, for they simply are not aware of it; do not count it a wonder. The mine does not lose the value of its jewel, nor generosity the worth of its brocade, nor the palm the sweetness of its dates, nor the reed the value of its sugar. As long as I live I will never be, for anyone but you, a well-wisher who prays, a seeker of loyalty who spreads praise. I wish you well from the heart, I speak your prayer in my mind; I seek loyalty from the soul, I recite your praise by heart. From your praise I draw my mind, from your love my inner being, from your ranks my council-book, from your thanks my ledger. It is like a sky full of stars, like a garden full of sweet basil, like a brocade full of figures, like a sea full of pearls. From my words a service was recited before you in the month of fasting, its phrases beautiful, its allusions charming. Now I have brought you a fresh service, in whose verses I have wrought countless artistries and woven boundless wonders. If this service pleases you as it has come, I will put into verse a hundred thousand more services finer than this. As long as the meadow ties a verdigris-colored cap from the cypress, as long as the mountain wears a vermilion veil from the tulip, may your face be always red with joy like the tulip, may your head be always green with fortune like the cypress.

What a great king of kings, what a commander of the realm; what a master of the world, what a bestower of crowns. What a Jamshid of justice and faith, what a sun beneath the law; what a lord of humankind and spirits, what a ruler of sea and land. How worthy of the throne, how fitting for the royal seal; what an ornament of kingship, what a treasure of glory. Fortune is your minister, the world your servant; the heavens are subdued by you, the stars compelled to obey you. Pillar of the triumphant state, splendor of the shining faith, helper of the radiant community, glory of the Prophet's religion. You are that king whose like, from Adam's days until now, has never been and never will be until the Judgment. The emperor of China lines his eyes with the dust of your caravan like kohl; the Caesar wears the horseshoe of your steed in his ear like a ring. For years, from the wound of your keen sword, fire has hidden its face in iron and taken shelter in marble. If a turtle held loyalty to you hidden in its heart for an hour, or if an oyster kept enmity concealed in its body for a moment, The turtle's hard shell would turn as soft as fennec fur, and the oyster's pearl would turn as sharp as a thorn in its mouth. Through your endless giving and generosity, the earth is emptied of treasure, the sea of pearls, the mountains of silver, the mines of gold. Through your battles, charges, and wrath, the air fills with souls, the sky with dust, the ground with corpses, and the field with blood from severed heads. For fear of your spear, the heat of battle stays kindled; for dread of your arrow, the ranks of the army stand ever ready. The fierce crocodile trembles like quicksilver in the Oman Sea; the raging leopard hides like the Simurgh in the mountains of Berber. O king, from the blow of your sword's edge, the heavens draw back their head each moment like a hedgehog curling into a coil. If in battle you struck your dagger against the body of Saturn, with a single stroke you would split it truly in two. You have raised fortresses across the borders of your lands, each one built stronger than the rampart of Alexander. Their moats plunge deep enough to reach the fish that bears the earth; their palace ceilings rise past the axle of the heavens. Your companions, counselors, cavalry, and pages are each, in every kind of skill, better than the last. Companions all learned, counselors all wise, cavalry all brave, pages all defenders of the line. One with the wisdom of Luqman, one with the eloquence of Sahban, one with the strength of Rostam, one with the might of Ali. From Turks and Daylamites your army holds men who roar like drunken elephants and surge like fierce lions. Lion-hearted, iron-clad, battling the heavens, leading armies; kindling combat, gathering victories, burning down foes, warriors all. All year long the Dragon, Bull, Lion, and Vulture of the sky bear the marks of their maces, lances, swords, and arrows upon the green dome. Skulls smashed in their heads, necks broken in their bodies, eyes burst in their faces, gall torn open in their breasts. Which among the sultans and kings of East and West holds a state so well ordered, an army so finely arrayed? My lord, now is the time to call for the joy of wine, for the whole world has grown as delightful as paradise. Now to set up a gathering on the bank of a flowing stream, now to call for wine to the soul-nourishing wail of the lute. Blossoms crown the branches like the beloved's cheek; violets line the streambank like the darling's curling locks. The pearl-laden cloud has become the painter of the plain flowers; the amber-scented north wind has become the servant of the red rose. Now the tulips make the garden a carnelian-colored cloak; now the greenery makes the meadow a turquoise-colored veil. Now the ringdove sings in the orchard like a tulip's lover; now the nightingale plays in the rose garden like a lute-strumming minstrel. The pearl-strewn tears of the cloud, the light-bearing glow of the sun, the messenger of the month of spring, the breath of the image-shaping wind, They embroider the lily's robe and reveal the hyacinth's tresses; they brighten the wild rose's face and open the narcissus's eye. At times the air drapes strings of pearls on the jasmine's neck; at times the breeze fills the meadow's skirt with heaps of amber. In these days one should not live a single hour without delight; in this season one should not stay a single moment without a cup. As long as Mani's paintings have their glowing beauty, as long as Azar's idols keep their adorned faces, May your feast be, with beautiful faces, like Mani's book of images; may your palace be, with fair Turks, like Azar's temple of idols. May fate follow your will, may destiny bow to your command; may the world's realm be your flock to guard, may the heavens aid your fortune.

Your cheek is like a rose and your hair like hyacinth; I am dazzled and undone by that hyacinth and that rose. Your curls are black pitch rising from ivory; your face is milk mixed with wine. On your ruby lips there is a dot of amber musk; at the edge of your moonlike face there is a cluster of hyacinth. All year and month you strut with coy grace like a partridge; day and night I cry out in pain like a nightingale. Your curls are like a crow hung evenly, its beak on the moon and its talons on the sun. Though a whole world is held captive by your love, trapped in the corner of sorrow and the desert of humiliation, I do not fear your love, for my heart puts its trust in praising the sun of the world. That sea of talent, Abul Hasan, that treasury of virtues, whose only trade is kindness and generosity. No stain touches the margins of his character; no change disturbs the foundation of his fortune. His nature never shifts for a moment, just as the decree of the Lord of the Throne never alters. His habit of loyalty never wavers; his promise of giving is never delayed. Your hand, from the beginning of time, was charged by the God of the world with the sustenance of all people. Whatever rank people gain from serving your court will never fade, forever. Each day, as it rises over the mountain, the sun bows to your court as a good omen. Your enemy is base and you are noble, so much so that no exaltation is found from earth nor any descent from the heavens. People find good fortune in your presence; the learned seek closeness through your praise. The moon's face grew blemished because, at every moment, it lays its face on the ground before you in humility. Any task made hard by the cruelty of fate is eased by nothing but your generosity. You would say that truly, by one lineage and origin, your adviser is a hoopoe and your enemy a mere ringdove. Otherwise, at the time of creation, the Lord of the Throne would not have placed that crown on this one's head and this yoke on that one's neck. You have chosen companions through whom the seat of all the noble is adorned still more. Men like Buhturi and Asma'i and Jahiz and Sabi, each a master of poetry, letters, learning, and prose. Hope's hand clings to your generosity; the eye of grace is lined bright by seeing you. The heavens forever marvel at your perfection; the angels are ever likened to your beauty. May you flourish upon that blessed, auspicious steed, sweet in stride like Yahmum and sure in its path like Duldul. Swift as a storm-wind, hard as steel, striking like lightning, with a body like the sky, a demon's heart, and the endurance of a mountain. In battle it is a demon, in motion a shooting star; in the saddle it is the sky, and the earth is its saddle-cloth. On the battlefield, from its movement, the edges of the earth quiver like a bead of quicksilver. If I could find a horse of the kind I described, I would set out at once from this city to come to you. I would come to your blessed presence, for I have grown weary of the company of the friends at the bridge-head. Since my coming was not possible this time, I composed this poem on the spot, improvising. Though it did not turn out fitting or as it ought, I hope my excuse will meet your acceptance. For in wrestling with this tight rhyme, the door of poetic craft slipped from my hand into lament. If you graciously hear this praise of mine, if you kindly approve this service of mine, From now on I will never, as long as I am able, be slow or lazy in your praise and eulogy. In your service, after these two odes, I will carefully craft a hundred more polished works. As long as the sun is not like the light that illuminates the Pleiades, as long as camphor is not like the effect of clove, May your enemy be bound in the trap of death; may whoever is beneath you sink below even the height of Saturn. May you forever delight in learning and virtue; may you always be joined to culture and pleasure.