English
Ode 13: In Praise of Sultan Mo'ezz al-Din Uways Jalayeri
When my beloved sets out to spill lovers' hearts,
the eyebrow and the sidelong glance take up the arrow and the bow.
With those bewitching eyes he steals my peace of mind away,
and with his musk-scattering curls he plunders my heart.
When his slender waist trades secrets with the belt,
again, like a spy, it slips its way between us.
Sometimes he draws a lovely violet line across the rose;
sometimes he shades a field of tulips with fresh hyacinth.
If, drunk, he goes into the garden, the reflection of his cheek
spills blood upon the fresh rose and the redbud blossom.
Ashamed before him, what can the cypress show beside the stream?
It rises from the meadow while the rose hides its face.
When the lily passes by, leaning with its hundred tongues,
it sighs with regret over the grace of the walking cypress.
Ask his disheveled hair about the state of my heart,
and it will tell it strand by strand, one thread at a time.
Hear the story of my sickness from his eyes,
and they will grow faint just describing my condition.
One truly stricken with love, who nurses his passion,
comes out ahead even when he loses his own head.
In the street of love they call a man a mere pretender
if he clings to his own head and worries about his life.
I still hope that, by the king's good fortune,
one day my beloved will welcome me into his embrace.
Sultan Uways, whom the heavens address at every moment
as King of the World and Emperor who takes the earth.
A king beneath whose banner's shade
the phoenix of victory nests to win good fortune.
The dust from his proud steed the ancient sky,
out of pride, makes into a crown for the head of the highest stars.
It would be sheer ignorance for anyone, in his presence,
to sit and tell the tale of just King Nushirvan.
O emperor, on the day of battle, from dread of you
the mountain groans in terror and the sea cries out.
Beware the moment when your mace and bow face the foe:
this one furrows its brow, that one makes their head heavy with dread.
Saturn, the castellan of your sky, every night
stands guard in servitude at your court.
Jupiter won its fame as the greatest of lucky stars
because day and night your name is the prayer on its tongue.
For the sake of your army, Mars forever
prepares the sword, the coat of mail, and the horse-armor.
The sun became the world-conquering giver of light
only because each dawn it bows down before your threshold.
At your feast, which gathers all the kings of the world,
Venus lends her hand to the musicians.
Last night people gazed upon the festival's new moon
because in the sky it bears the mark of your steed's horseshoe.
Your generosity guarantees a thousand years' provision
to anyone whose name simply crosses your mind.
The nature of Obeyd is like a royal treasure;
forgive his verse if its rhyme grows lavish.
May victory and triumph forever be joined to your court,
as long as the light-giving sun keeps its meeting with the stars.
May your life be so long that the gift-bestowing sky
makes you grow old a hundred times and young again each time.