Poem 3

Muslims, I cry out against those bewitching eyes, for in a single glance they stole my patience, calm, and endurance. Her face is fair as a Roman's, her curls and beauty mark dark as an African's, and her brow arches like a Central Asian archer's bow, full of reproach. Of all the wonders of the world, thirty-two rare marvels I see gathered plainly in her face, with nothing hidden from me. Moon and Pleiades, Mercury and Venus, sun and rainbow, pine and ivory, myrtle and narcissus, ruby and rose, fresh green and wine, union and deceit. Willow and hollyhock, candle and sandalwood, milk and tar, light and fire, honey and sugar, musk and amber, pearl and jewel, pomegranate and apple. The miracles of five prophets appear in her face: Ahmad and David and Jesus, Khizr and the son-in-law of Shu'ayb. My idol, if I die without tasting those lips, the Just One will demand justice from you on the Day of Reckoning. Sa'di, have you never truly heard this saying? Every valley has its peak, and every peak its valley.