English
In Praise of Sultan Sanjar the Seljuk
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.