Odes

Thanks, praise, gratitude, and honor belong to God, the Nurturer of creation, the Lord of majesty. The Giver, who knows the unseen and guards the heavens; the Provider who cherishes His servants, the Creator who guides the way. Both worlds testify to His oneness; He is One, and all creatures bow low at His door. He makes jewels from hard rock, pearls from oysters, the children of Adam from clay, and rose petals from grass. Glory to Him who gives death and gives life; there is no god but He who created the earth and the sky. Once He brings forth a spring of water from stone; another time, in winter, He turns the spring's water to stone. Sometimes, like a skilled makeup artist, He paints the day's fair face with the blush of dawn and the kohl of darkness. His is the sea of grace; if not, what is a cloud, that it should pour bounty on lands of east and west? You brought us into being by Your kindness, Maker of all existence; so forgive us by Your grace, Hearer of every prayer. Those who long for You lose heart and mind in the search; those who understand lose their footing in describing You. The nights of Your friends bring a blessed morning; but the night they pass without You brings the darkest evening. Your memory nourishes the soul, Your praise enchants; Your name lifts sorrow, Your word steals the heart. Without the stamp of Your acceptance, all deeds are counterfeit; without the seal of Your favor, every striving of hope is wasted. Where the sword of Your wrath rises in awe, You lay waste even the garden of Sheba with a raging flood. Kings lay their heads at the threshold of Your glory; the proud submit, and mighty rulers turn to beggars. Whether You punish all or grant them favor, no one has room to ask 'how is this?' or 'why is that?' We stand dumbstruck before the least of Your works; who are we, and where lies the praise fit for that Lord? How could the hands and feet of understanding and eloquence ever swim in the oceans of describing Your majesty? Sometimes the scorching wind of Your wrath joins hands with autumn; sometimes the breeze of Your kindness travels with the spring wind. All are beggars at the court of Your forgiveness: the sultan in his pavilion and the dervish in his cloak. One with hands raised in pleading, this one's face to the ground; that eye watching for a sign, this ear listening for a call. The travelers of Your path are veiled from people's eyes: by night in the garb of knowing, by day in ordinary dress. Blessed is the fortune You remember with kindness; ruined is the luck that forgets You. You struck the coin of prophethood thousands of times, first in the name of Adam and last in Mustafa. His inspiration from the Sublime, His message from Gabriel; his judgment not from mere nature, his speech not from desire. Who has a tongue eloquent enough to praise him? What light can a dim star give before the sun? Do you know what meaning the pious elders gave to the verse 'When the sun is folded up'? It means that when the Prophet's being lifts its head from the dust, the sun and moon will have no light in that hour. O you above whom the angels' highest station in heaven is the lowest rung compared to your rank. How dare I bring mere poetry to your lofty presence? What is fabricated magic against the revelation of heaven? Lord, by the hand that split the moon in two, by the pebbles that praised You in his blessed palm, We are the fallen slaves of our own desire, take our hand; be gentle with the wrongdoer and forgive the one who sinned. God placed an antidote in the Messenger's mouth; so why should Abu Bakr fear a deadly poison? O companion of the cave, the famed and truthful Abu Bakr, treasury of every virtue and store of purity, Others have kept company with their friends, but not as you did, sharing the dragon's jaws. A true friend gives up wealth, body, and life to keep faith to the end for the sake of the friend. Then Umar, who was worthy of prophethood, had the Master of Messengers not been the seal of the prophets, Commander of the household of faith, companion of the Messenger, foremost among the sincere worshippers of God. A demon the whole world is helpless against was helpless to escape his grip. Then the beauty of Uthman's character, who, out of modesty, would not raise his head before his murdering enemy. This is the condition of love and true friendship: to endure the cruelty of enemies for the sake of friends. God's chosen ones have always borne affliction; the more the favor, the more the trial. Who has the strength or nerve to describe Ali? The Almighty spoke of his merits in the verse 'Has there not come.' The mighty conqueror of the fortress of Khaybar, whose bolt he broke apart with the arm of 'there is no hero.' A man who wore his armor over his chest in battle, so he would never turn his back on the enemy in war. The Lion of God, hero of the field, sea of generosity: giving life in prayer, setting the world ablaze in battle. Preface of chivalry and sultan of true knowledge, commander of nobility and leader of the devout. Tomorrow, when everyone reaches for an intercessor, we hold to the hand and hem of the sinless Ali. The Prophet is the shining sun of the world, and these are its great stars and guides. Lord, by the pure lineage of Fatima's children, Lord, by the pure blood of the martyrs of Karbala, Lord, by the sincere hearts of the truthful elders, Lord, by the tears of the men who knew You, In Your generosity, send balm to the weary hearts; O Your Greatest Name, the door of the treasury of healing. If people lean on their own deeds, Your mercy and grace are support enough for us. Lord, we have broken Your command many times, yet we hope in Your generosity to forgive what is past. The sinner keeps his eyes on his own faults; we, through Your boundless generosity, keep our eyes on Your gift. Lord, by Your kindness cover our sins on the day when secrets fall openly from behind the veil. From You have come always kindness and lordship; from us, as befits us, unworthy deeds. It is justice if You punish us though we are innocent; it is grace if You draw the pen of pardon over our faults. If You strengthen him, a human surpasses an angel; if You raise it, the dust rises to the Pleiades. The hearts of Your friends bleed with fear, yet the fullness of Your kindness gives their hearts hope again. Lord, accept us by Your greatness and grace, for the one You reject has no refuge at all. Take our hand, and do not send us to anyone else; the helpless have no need but toward You, none else. We are needy servants and You are generous; a need is always answered before the generous. You did all that befitted Your lordship; we did nothing worthy of You; our Lord. It is easy, if You look with the eye of favor; what obstacle is there before the elixir in setting a heart right? Better still that You Yourself take our hand by Your kindness, for otherwise nothing at all can come from our own hands. Having brought no work to completion in our seeking, we have brought our precious days to their end. In short, we held out empty hands to You; and one cannot hold out anything but empty hands to God. O fortune, if You look with favor; O shame, if You repay with punishment. O friend, strive to walk the path like true men; and if your feet are bound, open your hands in prayer. It is clear how far a servant reaches by his own effort; above every head a pen of destiny has already written. No one can rely on his own goodness and worship; only the blind lean on a walking stick. What was written on your brow from the first day? For in eternity there are the blessed and the wretched. If they lay a sword upon a true lover's body, he says, 'Strike, for the wealth is offered up and life is a sacrifice.' We do not hope for healing from an enemy's remedy; but from the friend's hand, even poison is welcome. O you whose life is tethered on the flood's path, why pile up so many hopes with death right behind you? Every wild beast in mountain and plain would be a Sufi, if plain wool without purity were any use. The body grows lean but the heart's strength grows strong in the prey that grazes in the gardens of self-discipline. Since neither joy nor sorrow of this world lasts, Pharaoh in triumph is like Job in affliction. People like us have not died in hardship and want; who are we to deserve the honor of the saints? The one wounded on God's path feels no grief; how sweet is a pain that the Beloved Himself heals. There is no place for pleasure between heaven and earth; how can a single grain escape from between two millstones? Your life is gone and you made no remedy for your task; now that there is no remedy, come in helplessness. Your good and bad deeds are your companions at resurrection; choose those you would be glad to meet face to face. So that you sow no seed but generosity, and take no provision but reverence for God. You may say, 'What hard-hearted one would ignore this counsel?' Call it out to the mountain, and only the echo answers you back. To the unworthy we gave Saadi's advice as it truly is, though kohl makes no difference to one born blind.

If anyone wants to study the highest heaven, come and study the fresh springtime of the earth. It is no wonder if roses and wild lilies burst out of clay, for the One who fashions Adam's form from a mere strand of clay. A wise Lord who seals the laughing rose's face inside a bud, like an embryo in the womb. It is fitting to lay the face of worship at the door of His command, for a painter who can draw a picture like this. Look at the blessings of the land of Shiraz and its heavenly beauties; glance through any window and you will see wide-eyed maidens of paradise. Beauties with wondrous faces have taken over the promenade, faces that leave the idol-carvers of China helpless when they gaze. The Turks, with bows for eyebrows and arrows of bewitching glances, have set an ambush against the hearts of grieving lovers. A thousand heartbroken cries rise from every side, as the king's servants fill his saddle-house. The water ripples and churns under the threat of the spring wind, like an angry lover knotting his brow. Perhaps the blossom smiled and its perfume rose, for a wail broke out in the meadow among the mournful nightingales. Bring the wine, cupbearer of the gathering; tell the friendly minstrel to play, for it has been too long that companions have not seen their companion. A thousand nightingales sing upon the rose, like Sa'di, prayers for the just chief minister, Ala of the state and faith. Minister of East and West, trustee of Mecca and Medina, for no kingdom has a keeper and trustee like him. A world of virtue and generosity, the ornament of the office of the vizier, who has set even the most favored courtiers below his hand. In that sanctuary where they lay out four cushions of honor for him, even the great lords who sit at the head reach no further than his threshold. When the morning breeze stirs the lion on his banner, the lion in his den loses all courage to attack, out of dread. With gentle persuasion and wisdom he makes the kings of the earth as obedient and captive to him as a slave bought and owned. To take the enemy's land, what need has he of a catapult, when his terror alone shakes their fortified towers? A learned and just minister, by the agreement of the wise, is the shelter of the realm and of the king of the earth. The spearpoint of his fortune strikes the enemies of state and faith the way a shooting star strikes the accursed demon. In the era of his rule no hand of oppression remains outstretched, except the silvery forearms and plump arms of the beauties. The hand of hope always clutches the hem of his bounty, like a debtor who seizes the sleeve of his guarantor. For my thoughts to explain his special qualities in detail is needless effort, for what is certain needs no commentary. If someone points out a crescent moon, that is nothing strange; but what need is there for me to point out the clear, blazing sun? In this garden where even the nightingale cannot find its voice, look, you bold-eyed one, at the fly that dares to raise its buzz. O you whose crown of power has reached such a height that even the highest heaven cannot touch that rank. If I write of my longing, no words can do it justice; I am as devoted a lover to you as the thirsty man to pure water. By the dust of your feet, my oath is a binding, unbroken vow, for since the time I learned to tell my right hand from my left. For the needs of this world I fix no hope on people, for the mean and grudging man endures the greatest torment. You know the worth of merit, for you are a man of merit and knowledge; what does a seller of cheap glass know of the price of a precious pearl? May your keeper and helper be God, for you will never find a keeper and helper better than God. May your fathers' resting places be drowned in mercy, for they raised sons as wise and clear-headed as you. In speech I bind two lines together so gracefully that people of meaning might well take them as their daily litany. Eat and give away, for this world is good for nothing except for what you send ahead of yourself for the Last Day.

Look at that face whose beauty outshines the moon, at the trap of those curls and the bait of that dark mole. I never heard of a cypress that could wear a robe, nor did I ever see the sun put on a cap. If a face like this were raised up on Judgment Day, the sinner would offer a thousand excuses for his sin. You have heard how Joseph was trapped in a well; here is a Joseph who carries the well itself in his dimpled chin. He looks at his friends the way a king looks proudly over his troops. With every step that true cypress takes, it is a pity if we do not sweep the road with our own eyes. I can bear no more patience against that face: how long can a straw carry the weight of a mountain? You who sleep and cannot hear the sigh of the wakeful heart, do not blame it; a sigh belongs to a heart in pain. Sadi, tell no more tales of drunkenness and lovers' cries; such talk is a flaw in the house of prayer. Wash your notebook clean of the poems you have written, and say nothing more but prayers for the fortune of Saljuqshah. Lord, grant him long life so that, with wrath and kindness, he may repay the ill-wisher and reward the well-wisher. And let his servant drive, like a nail into the enemy's throat, the rope that holds up the pavilion of his court.

You rode away, and a hundred thousand hearts clung to your stirrup. You who are the soul of every lover, who could bear to lose their soul? Do you think one who couldn't endure a single moment of reproach can survive a long separation? Until you rise again in the east like the sun, we all keep our eyes on the road and our fingers counting the days. The moment a messenger brings me a letter from you, I'll fall at his feet and press the letter to my head. You may leave our sight, but unlike others you never leave our hearts, for you live within our souls, only veiled from our eyes. Only the hope of a day of reunion keeps people alive; otherwise this parting would have made us bleed with dread. In your garden home, after you are gone, when will the pomegranate smile, the quince stay fresh, the apple blush red? This festival brings no shared joy to the people. The real feast is when they hang garlands and decorate the streets for your return. Do not grieve, for this blessed fortune travels with you; good luck will be your ally through every rise and fall. Saadi's thoughts ride with you, since your gracious nature, like Saadi's verse, captivates every heart. May support, victory, and triumph ride beside you every dawn and dusk that you set your foot in the stirrup.

The banner of Nowruz has risen over the plain; the burden of winter's army has lifted from our heads. The morning breeze hung every jewel on the meadow's brides, pearls the diving clouds drew up from the sea's heart. To snatch the ermine cap of snow from the mountain's crown, the vanguard of the sun's warmth rose to plunder. They filled the garden's tray with sweets and fragrant herbs, giving thanks that the earth has recovered from winter's fever. What scent is this, breathing from the fields of Khallukh? What wind is this, rising from the land of Yaghma? What air is this, that paradise sat down in envy of it? What earth is this, that the sky rose up to serve it? The green vault of heaven turned red with the meadow's reflection, so many shining pearls arose across the field. It is the season of the harp's song; at the dawn feast the nightingales raised their cries and clamor from the garden. The scent of dissolution rose from the Sufi's cloak; the fire of madness rose from the wise one's breast. From the earth the lovers' lament rose to the heavens; from the dust the drunkards' shout rose to the Pleiades. Today the mystic sat with his beloved in such delight that the ascetic gave up all worry over tomorrow. Every heart is seized with longing for a flower's face; this uproar did not rise from the nightingale alone. It is as if the veil fell from the beloved's face, and the pen crossed out the frenzied lover's safety. Wherever a sun faced beauty cast its shadow, a wounded, heartless lover rose up, girded like Gemini. Wherever a cypress tall one showed a face like Joseph, a burnt out lover rose up like Zulaikha, harvest consumed. Beside her cheek, I cannot say how the tulip dared to bloom; beside her stature, I cannot say how the cypress dared to stand. Lay your head back on the pillow of nothingness, drunken narcissus, for that dark languid eye has woken from its dawn sleep. At her speech, reason fled from every heart; I love that stature, drunk with how beautifully she rose. When the day of her face tore off the night mask of her hair, you would say the long dark night of Yalda rose up from the day of judgment. Let go of loving her, for it so plundered my patience that the veil was lifted from the sanctuary of hidden mysteries. Sadi, how long will you blacken this page? Enough. The pen has worn away its head from the passion in your hand.

Whatever share was not set aside for you before you existed, anyone who struggles to gain it is chasing wind. You must bow your head in acceptance and offer your neck in obedience, for whatever a just ruler does is never injustice. The key to conquering lands lies in His treasury; no one has ever opened those gates by the strength of his own arm. To certain eyes the painting looks crooked, and they imagine the painter was no master. If you truly have vision, you will see both good and bad as coming from God; seeing double comes only from cross-eyed sight. The same One who created crops and palm trees and gave them sustenance also sent the locust to eat its share. Look closely and you will find that whoever cries out is really crying against his own bad character. Be pure, my brother, and fear no one; keep in mind that this advice I learned from my father. Whether you run on your feet or hurry on your head, the Divider will not grant a portion He did not assign you. Greatness and undivided sovereignty belong to God alone; to others whom you see, He has only lent it. If you are a person of understanding, set your heart on the afterlife, not on this ruined world, which is a home built of misery. Do not walk the earth with arrogance and pride, O human, for the very dust beneath your feet was once a human like you. The world is set upon water, and the wise know that the surface of water is no place for stability or foundation. Choose contentment with the decree of fate, Saadi, for whoever becomes a servant of God's command is free.

People, this world is no place to rest at ease; for the wise, clinging to it is not worthwhile. What do sleepers know of the dawn bird's song? An animal knows nothing of the human world. Take the cure of discipline from a master of the path, for nothing afflicts us worse than ignorance. However lovely and fair a face may be, you cannot see it in a mirror that gives no light. The night of God's chosen ones is bright as the day that lights the world; for the enlightened there is truly no dark night. Break the demon's grip with the arm of self discipline, for this strength is not the raw force of the body. Devotion is not just pressing your forehead to the ground; bring honesty, for sincerity does not live on the forehead. Beware of following your own desires, for on God's road there is no monster more deadly than that desert ghoul. Scholar, worshipper, and Sufi are all children on the road; if there is a true man, he is none but the one who knows God. I fear the spirit's beloved will not turn to you, for all you ask is your own comfort and pleasure. Your house is full of wheat, yet you send not one grain ahead to the grave; your fear of death is not even as much as your fear of a hard winter. You seize a fellow believer's wealth, but when yours is taken you cry out that there is no faith left in the world. The craving for wealth and status has no end; there is no better estate than having no estate at all. Only the one who owns something fears the thief; the knowers have laid down all they have, so nothing troubles them. Whoever has pitched his tent in the open field of contentment feels no grief of ruin, even if the world is shaken by an earthquake. A single sincere piece of advice is worth a whole world; do not listen to me if there is no benefit for both worlds in my words. The harvest of a life wasted and days spent in idleness is nothing but regret and remorse. Sa'di, though you speak well and give good counsel, results come from action, not from eloquence. Until the crop of your hope ripens to harvest, there is no remedy but eyes weeping like rain. If you must beg, then beg at His door alone, for the beggars there are greater than any king. Lord, we came from nothing into being by Your craft, and whatever exists is not hidden from Your knowing gaze. Whether You drive me away or call me Your devoted servant, I will not turn from the King's court in despair. Where could I go, hopeless, from the door of Your grace? Forgive me, for Your court has no rival. You bite your hand in grief if you lose a single coin, yet you feel no regret for a whole life thrown away.

Life is sweet, but sadly it does not last forever; so don't put your trust in these five fleeting days. The cypress-tall figure of a person will not keep the fresh bloom of youth forever. It is a flower, bright and smiling, fresh and fragrant, but, as you know, there is no hope it will endure. Don't expect the arms of time, this mother, to nurse you forever, for there is no scent of tenderness in her. Don't be smug and heedless, head down like a grazing sheep, for there is no shepherd's care in this wolf's nature. What need has the obvious to be explained aloud? The faithlessness of the turning sky is no secret. What spring breeze ever blew across the horizons without an autumn ruin trailing close behind it? Even if you seized every kingdom on earth, it would not be worth one more day's respite of life. My friend, don't set your heart on this caravanserai, for building a house is not the way of travelers. Even if the whole world grants your wishes while your enemy pursues, I swear the world is no place for lasting triumph. Like an idol-worshipper you have grown so absorbed in appearances that you no longer sense the sweetness of deeper meaning. Walk the path of truth and be wherever you like, for the solitary corner of the awakened heart belongs to no fixed place. God's friends let go of the world, for nothing binds a person to hardship except craving to possess it. Guard your tongue so it doesn't drag you to hell, for there is no greater harm in the world than the tongue. Bring deeds, and don't uproot knowledge, for the healthiest road for true men is the trackless lane of humility. Raise your empty, pleading hands to the court of the Self-Sufficient, for the work of God's man is nothing but calling upon God. Don't devour like the ill-mannered, both the ox and its seed, for they can hope neither for harvest nor for fortune in the world to come. Do not do it: it is a shame to wound a friend for your own sake, especially the Friend who has no equal. What use is the rain of preaching pouring on people's heads when a man has no shell-like, receptive mouth for it? Saadi, you have conquered the earth with the sword of eloquence; be thankful, for this is nothing but a heavenly gift. The fame your poetry has spread across the horizons, even the Tigris hasn't traveled so far, for its waters don't flow this freely. Not everyone who boasts of strength against us will prevail, for happiness does not lie in brute power. But tell the perfume-merchant: do not go on praising the musk, for its sweet scent is no secret from the buyer.

Take pride, lord of everlasting fortune, in your blessed luck and your firmly founded throne. Rescuer of the age, defender of the faithful, chosen helper of the one God and of the religion of Ahmad. Master who commands like the kingdom of Solomon, just king of kings, Atabak Muhammad. From Sa'd of Abu Bakr down to Sa'd of Zangi, father after father famous, grandfather after grandfather. The masters of the seas and the frontiers lay their heads in service upon his ground. All the renowned and the proud are bound in the chains of the favors he granted first. Wise king, shelter of the people, may you be singled out for God's eternal support. Hear one elder's counsel from Sa'di, and may your fortune stay young and your glory renewed. As long as the world has turned, it has never been faithful in keeping the children of the world alive. This worldly kingdom does not last forever; no seat of power is worth leaning on. Spend your reign and your life in such a way that your good name endures forever.

The world is built on water, and life is built on wind. I am the servant of the noble soul who set no heart on it. The world will not last, but joyful is the person whose good name remains behind after they are gone. The everlasting house of fortune is the reward of the afterlife. When you lay a foundation, make sure the ground is solid. What pleasure can there be in this garden, when the wind of death uproots even the tallest, straightest tree? This borrowed body is a house in the path of a flood; the lamp of life is set on a window open to the wind. The sun will rise many times and set without us; there will be springs and autumns, winters and summers. Do not fix your heart on what is passing, for the Tigris will keep flowing through Baghdad long after the caliph is gone. If you have the means, be generous like the fruit-laden palm; if you have nothing to give, be free and upright like the cypress. I will not flatter you with titles: glory of state and faith, sky of honor and greatness, world of knowledge and justice. I offer you one prayer, without pretense, from sincerity: may God forgive you at your final breath. You are that kind and wise brother whom mother time has not borne a child as fortunate as you in many years. In your reign the hand of chaos was bound, and by your blessing the door of prosperity opened to the world. The proof that good will come to you from God is enough that good has come to the people of the world through you. One who sends no provision ahead for the day of reckoning will look back many times with eyes full of regret. Take this advice of mine and do good, for I know that after my death you will remember me kindly. The one who hoarded and never enjoyed had no true insight; the one who spent and gave away carried off the prize of happiness.

When a traveler stands firm on the path of truth, everything but God becomes nothing in his eye of unity. Like a pen, he girds himself, head bowed, lips sealed, and at whatever word comes his way, he offers his crown, as a pen gives its point. Rare is the one who turns his face from the mallet of blame, for on God's road he becomes, head to foot, like a rolling ball. Only he who flattens his brow like a nail and bends like a horseshoe will glimpse, in this arena, the hoof of the king's swift steed. Do good or do ill today, my son, as you wish, for here whether the deed is bad or good, it is recorded against the doer. Do not think the harmless one is oppressed by a tyrant's cruelty for nothing; one day the oppressor too will be slain by the sword of injustice. In this endless whirlpool, do not load your belly's weight onto your heart, for on the day of storm a ship sinks under the burden of its hold. With effort, iron-heart, bear a burden for a while, for through effort iron becomes the world-showing mirror and the cup of Jamshid. How long will you rush toward the sanctuary? Drive the fancy from your nature, for if you become worthy, your own being becomes the shrine of truths. The great sins are a fearsome stone lying in people's road; such a stone can only be rolled away by the flood of remorse. Take on a grief that ends in boundless joy; do not, like fools, chase after a joy that turns to sorrow. Tell the lords of conquest and the crushers of their foes: as fortune turned upon them, so it will turn upon us as well. Sew shut the eyes of your heart until it becomes certain sight; take up wounds upon your body until it becomes the treasury of wisdom. Greed within you will not let you scatter gold on friends; keep your belly empty like the narcissus so your hand may hold coin. My Lord, if You increase the wisdom You have given me, it will grow for me without diminishing Your kingdom. A drop from the cloud of Your bounty fell into this body of dust; by Your grace, help this drop become an ocean. Yes, there is hope of mercy, especially for the one in whose mind the praise of the honored, sent Prophet lives. Muhammad, from praise of whose excellence, in whatever mind's soil a single drop falls, that mind at once becomes a sea of blessings. When I need good fortune, I speak the praise of Mustafa's essence, as a begging Sufi circles among the generous. Hold your tongue, Saadi, from describing his knowledge; what do you know of his knowledge? Wait until it is revealed tomorrow. If you would learn wisdom, turn to Muhammad's court, for Abu Jahl is the one who thinks himself the father of wisdom through his own learning. He escaped the pit of the eternal and became owner of the world's wealth, every devout, warm-hearted dervish who grows great through this door.

Who could ever count the grace of God? And who has given thanks for even one gift in a thousand? That eternal Maker who, across the carpet of creation, painted so many thousand shapes in every color. He made the sky's design and the rising of the stars to give a lesson to the watchful eye. He created the sea, the land, the trees, and humankind, the sun and moon and stars, the night and day. So many kinds of blessing no thanks can repay, so many means of comfort no counting can measure. Signs of mercy that fill the whole world over, burdens of favor the heavens bear on their shoulders. From dry wood He drew fruit, in the reed He placed sugar, and from a single drop He formed royal pearls. He drove the mountains like nails into the sheet of earth, so the floor of soil would stand firm above the water. The particles of dead earth, by the touch of the sun, He turned into orchards of fruit, meadows, and fields of tulips. This water gave drink to the thirsty roots of trees and dressed bare branches in the robe of spring. He created so many thousand lovely scenes, but who is there who looked at them with real reflection? Not only the children of Adam proclaim His oneness; so does every nightingale that sings upon a branch. For which favor could anyone give proper thanks? Whoever pondered this was left bewildered. Tell me, which one? The soul He breathed into the body, or the precious mind He paired with the soul? The tongue of praise falls mute in the mouth of eloquence before the fullness of the kindness He gave, hidden and open alike. What is a head worth, that we should lay it on the ground before Him? Even the soul would not be too much to offer on His path. A Giver whose past grace and mercy has made us hopeful of a good end. Be devout, for the Judge of the heavens made paradise the dwelling of the devout. No treasure is won without enduring hardship; only the one who worked, dear brother, took the wage. Whoever did no deeds and yet hoped for reward, the fool planted no seed and waited for a harvest. This world, which the Prophet called a bridge to the next, is no place to settle; you must pass on across it. The house of lasting rest is the human's eternal home; this is a place to leave, not a place to stay. How many bones the mortar of turning time has ground so fine it scattered them to dust. The tyrant died, and his ugly ways remained; the just one passed, and left a good name behind. Jesus withdrew in solitude from all the world, and his Beloved held the heart's desire in His embrace. Korah abandoned faith, and the world did not stay with him; it was a cheap game, like a mouse hunting. Let us put our trust in the grace of the One who helps, for leaning on the borrowed is leaning on the wind. After God, whatever people worship is nothing; luckless is the one who chose nothing over everything. This is fortune's ball, and no one carries it off the field except the one whom fate favored from the very beginning. Poor human, what can he do with effort and toil, when all that must be, destiny has already decreed? He created king and servant, the good and the bad; He made some wretched, some fortunate, some honored, some despised. Every breath that Saadi drew, like the dawn, spread out across the wide earth like morning light. Every servant on whose name the seal of fortune rests hung Saadi's counsel like an earring in the ear of his heart. Every poet who praised the kings of the land rose high and hoped for lofty fortune. So it is fitting that Saadi should ask for a still greater robe of honor, for he gave thanks for the blessings of the Lord.

There is nothing so bad that some good doesn't hide in it. An evil that turns into good was never really evil at all. You heard what happened to my brother; in short, you have no idea. They forced dates on him at a fixed price; no crime could be worse than that. The children, the household, and the friends all eat the dates, and there's no money left. And then what a tax collector you send: a brute than whom none is worse. They beat him so hard, my lord, that the road home was cut off to him. If a generous man gives away forced dates, from such a kind soul it is no waste. As long as we had the strength to endure, we endured; what more can we do when it runs out? Is it that the customs of loyalty and kindness simply don't exist in your city? I've never seen such charm in all of Fars; not even Egypt has sweetness like this. Every night a hundred drops fall from Sadi's eyes, and each one is nothing less than a pearl. We told you this out of pure affection; perhaps no one else needs to know.

The heavens themselves have no such grandeur, and the shining of sun and moon is nowhere so bright. If the morning breeze brushes past the dust of your feet, no wonder its hem comes back perfumed with musk. Among all the pearls of your royal crown, not one has a match even in the cluster of the Pleiades. May this dynasty endure in its rule, so that as long as it stands, the faith remains unbroken. Whoever turns his head away from wisdom, there is no one more wretched or forlorn than he. The enemy who plants an elephant's foot of pressure on your heart, strike him down so his pawn can never rise to queen. Where in the whole world is there such a sovereign? And if there were, none would be so sweet. For God's sake, let your enemy die in some place where no friend stands at his bedside.

Saadi has gone off on foot and now comes back headlong: the guide of the people, the master among the discerning, has returned. The one bewitched by a lovely face, drunk on the spring breeze, the lover of the dawn birds' song, has come home again. Don't imagine he has set his restlessness aside; don't say his drunkenness has given way to sober sense. His heart beside itself, his mind still in turmoil, just as reckless as before, his body has settled back at home. Years passed, in hopes reason would teach him calm; but see what he learned, for he came back madder than ever. Look how reason fled the flood of love's sorrow, wandered a whole world, and returned to the same dangerous whirlpool. So you may know there was a fixed point held in his heart: like a compass he spun around and came back to where he began. How thirsty he was to see his loved ones; now it is as if the water of life has flowed back into his heart. The soil of Shiraz always yields sweet-scented roses; no wonder another sweet-singing nightingale has come home. His madness carried his feet, his longing led the way. See his standing: he left on foot and came back running headlong. His yearning to leave Damascus for Shiraz was like Khosrow's: for thoughts of Shirin, he turned away from sugar itself. He is at fault, but do not blame him, for the generous one holds no grudge against the sinner once he comes back to the door. What torment did he not suffer in the pitch-black night of separation, until this day, when moonlit nights have returned? It is a wonder that one day he reached his desire; perhaps the murderous, cruel sky relented at last. The virgin daughter of his mind will suffer no stranger's cruelty in orphanhood from now on, for its father has come home. What are the two or three worthless beads inside his cocoon worth, especially now that he has returned to a sea of pearls? Since the realm of art was not granted to him outright, he saw no other way but to come begging at the door of the artful.

The moon falls short of Muhammad's beauty; no cypress stands as gracefully balanced as he. Before Muhammad's high worth and perfection, the heavens themselves hold no rank or standing. Everyone else is promised their meeting at Judgment Day, but the Night of Ascension was Muhammad's night of union. Adam and Noah, Abraham, Moses and Jesus, all gathered together in the shade of Muhammad. The whole wide world cannot contain his aspiration; look to Judgment Day to see the true scope of Muhammad. Paradise has adorned itself with all its finery, hoping that Muhammad's Bilal might find it worthy. Like the earth, the sky longs to fall down low, so it can kiss the sandals of Muhammad. On the plain of Resurrection the sun and moon give no light; no radiance shines there but the beauty of Muhammad. It is only fitting that sun and moon lose their glow before the two crescent brows of Muhammad. Since my eyes glimpsed his beauty in a dream, no sleep can take me from the vision of Muhammad. Sa'di, if you would live in love and youth, the love of Muhammad and his family is enough.

How many wise minds have been trapped in the chains of desire; once love arrives, where does wisdom remain? It is an unavoidable fate for anyone who turns toward the sun of love: like a speck of dust in its light, he stays a prisoner of longing. The only cure for love is endurance, if you can bear it; and if not, bearing the burden of a beloved is like suffering a tyrant king's cruelty. One who loves the beautiful pays no mind to slanderers. Come, if you have the courage to let their taunts fall behind your back. If Croesus himself came one night among the lovely-faced, they would plunder him tonight so thoroughly that by morning he would be a pauper. Bring, spring wind, the fragrance of the garden of triumph, for its amber-laced scent resembles the scent of my beloved. You are lost in your pleasures and amusements; how would you take pity on me? Only a friend who has been parted from a friend can feel such pity. Answer me, scold me with any bitterness you like, for insults from your ruby lips are sweeter than a blessing. I know no other door to turn my face away from you. Beware, do not harm my soul, or my pain will be left without a cure. The useless faultfinder cannot understand Saadi's pain, unless one day, in some lane, he too is stricken by a beautiful face. If an idol as lovely as you sat at the head of every lane, I doubt anyone but the judge would keep his chaste soul intact. The pride of every gathering and assembly, the leader of religious law, Rukn al-Din, whose reasoning so strengthens the faith that it recalls the age of Muhammad. The perfection of his wise counsel has so adorned the world that as long as the ages last, fine praise of him will remain. The whole world prays for him, and Saadi is the least of those who speak; may this good fortune endure as long as existence lasts.

What garden ever matched the sight of friends? No one says paradise is like a mere orchard. The tree of your silver-bodied form must be the Tuba tree of heaven, for I have never seen a cypress that comes close to it. The two-faced rose challenged you with its one face; now its other cheek is pale yellow with shame. Where is the one who used to point at the crescent moon? Before your eyebrows, his finger stayed frozen at his lips in wonder. Whoever sees your face beside the sun is left uncertain which is your face and which the sun. Do not be surprised that I love you while I live, for that love will remain in my bones even beneath the ground. No wonder my heart may split open like a pomegranate, for its blood, drop by drop, is like pomegranate seeds. Do not blame the one drowning in the sea of love, for anyone caught in the middle flails his hands and feet. If you hunt my heart with the arrow of a glance, what wonder? Your eyebrows, when they curve, are just like a bow. Do not be cruel, for neither the world nor anything in it endures; only faithfulness and the company of kind friends remain. Even if you hide your face like a pod of musk, do not hope your sweet scent will stay concealed. You could raise the dead if you returned to your vow, for the presence of a dear friend revives the soul like incense. The lip I kissed while it was laughing was like embracing the seal of a rosewater flask. A curling, sweet line of down that, were I to describe it, resembles the handwriting of the Sahib Divan of the Ilkhan. The trusted one of East and West, the glory of the state and faith, whose lofty station reaches to the sky. God willed that Islam, under his protection, should stay safe within a fortress of refuge from the arrow of disaster. Otherwise, turmoil had sharpened its teeth so keenly that neither happiness nor a home would have survived in this land. It is only right that whoever understands should do good, for good and evil deeds live on as stories among people. You are the generous man of the age; from the throng of common folk your gate is like a sweet watering place for a caravan. In your time, wherever there sits a chief minister, he waits at your threshold in awe of your rank. They liken you to Hatim of Tayy, but that is wrong; who says the blossoming rose is like the humble judas tree? With my clear judgment I will not accept even the error of saying your nature and hand are like the sea and the mine. Where is your grandeur and towering worth, and where imagination? I am not one to keep my tongue at such a station. The arts of your excellence have no limit or end that the speaking soul could ever find the power to express. You are a Ma'n ibn Za'ida in the perfection of learning and refinement, leaving a mark in the books until the Day of Judgment. The world will not last, but may your fortune endure, for your good name will remain as long as the world remains. Especially since Sa'di found the chance of nearness to you, it is true that thought endures through time. You too, do not withhold from him the utmost of what is possible, for that fades while this remembrance lives forever. To the spite of your enemies, live a long life, for the thief never wants the watchman to stay.

How fortunate are the people of Shiraz, who live sheltered under the wing of a high-soaring royal bird. In the blessed reign of a just king, whose good fortune makes even wolf and sheep sing in harmony. Muzaffar al-Din Saljuqshah, by whose justice the souls of Takla and Bubakr Sa'd take pride. God has granted his people such a blessing in you that they cannot give thanks for any other gift before it. The world gives your enemy his due: those who cast the stone of defiance only drop it back onto their own heads. Your eloquence is the shining hand of Moses, son of Amram; how can the trickery of sorcerers ever match it? May the prayers of the righteous and the true watch over your life, for the people of Persia stand out for their honesty and virtue.

Anyone who looks on the world with kindness does well to handle everything wisely. Whatever might wound even the heart of an ant, he turns away from, though it were the water of life. Contentment and generosity are the marks of a free soul; first dedicate the house of your heart to these two. Since both good and bad will pass, it is far better to live your whole life in a happy spirit. Guard your tongue in what to say and what to leave unsaid, for the candle burns away its own life on the tip of its flame. In this house, whose beginning is nothingness at its end, seek eternal life through good character. Once you know the world and what its habit is, is it right for anyone to lean on it for support? Eat well now, drink well, and gather a good name, for the wise man finds a hundred excuses for a single cup. Do not grieve over what tomorrow may bring, for the wheel of your life is wasted on that tune. Though this world of dust is worth nothing on the road, a wise man makes it the target for the arrow of insight. There is nothing better in the world than a quiet corner, so that from it you may draw the fruit of devotion. Whoever seeks Saadi's company in this life, why would he not also seek the happiness of both worlds? Though building houses is not the path of knowledge, especially for one who does it in these times, still, in the eyes of the wise he is surely excused, the one who lays the foundation of a home for shelter. For though the bird trusts in providence for seed and water, with its own hands it builds a nest for itself.

Praise God most high, that to the fury of the envious, good fortune has returned and blessing is bound firm to our brows. Why should the singer beat only the drum of good news? Today Venus herself should come and play the lute. My God, how blessed a dawn broke this morning, when even its breath carries the scent of ambergris and aloewood. Fate has granted the easy reaching of our hopes; the turning world brings tidings that our wishes are fulfilled. The mercy of a Lord who is gentle and generous; the grace of one who cherishes his servants, merciful and loving. If someone tried to give thanks for this blessing, a whole lifetime of prostration could never suffice. The bearer of good news reports that from the heart of Iraq a victorious delegation comes, bringing generous gifts. God has sent Fars a blessing from the unseen; over the pious a long shade of shelter has spread. Shams al-Din, shadow of Islam, beauty of the horizons, head of the council, chief of the ranks, commander of armies, The just lord of the age, of fair character, Husayn, whose equal is nowhere to be found in this world. Famous for his chivalry and his kindness to the poor, plain to see for his open-handedness and good nature. No one who asks leaves the reach of his bounty empty-handed; no one in distress is turned away from the door of his grace. Wisdom demands that you not bring your needs to just anyone, for not every heart and hand brings generosity to life. Tell the base man to turn away: even if he is as rich as Korah, no one expects unheard-of kindness from him. The fortunate enjoy their lot and do not grieve for the world, for it stayed with neither Og and Anak nor Ad and Thamud. Whoever fails to recognize the Lord's grace upon himself will not keep his good fortune long, for he is thankless and ungrateful. Seek a good name and think of a good end; these two foundations endure, all else is torn down. I would gladly spend my whole life giving counsel, or offering blame, though only the truly happy will listen. Everyone speaks, but Sadi's speech is another thing; everyone knows songs, but none like David's psalms. My words are not bad, since you call them good; gold that the assayer approves is proven pure. And if the envious, out of his brainless head, says something, what harm to Mary's purity from the malice of the Jews? The envious eye has no cure but to look on and burn with regret, for it cannot bear to see the one it envies. You whose generous character cannot be described, and even if it were, its aspects and limits could not be told, This has always been the longing of mother Earth: to give birth to a blessed child like you. What can I say? If they set out to count your fair qualities, all the world's people could not exhaust even one part. May all of them, the people of Islam, work to please you, and may you work to please the One who is worshipped. May the seat of the realm's council be adorned by you, especially these honored ones who stand and sit before you. May those who wish you well come to a good end; may those who wish you ill come to a disgraceful finish. Upon the souls of your fathers, mothers, and ancestors, may God's mercy pour down, as many as the grains of Zarud's sand.

Musician of the gathering, strike up the lute's soft song; servant of the hall, set the incense of aloeswood aglow. The lot of high aspiration has come up as a sign of mercy; the beloved has entered through the door under a lucky star. A true friend can't be traded for this world or the next; the company of Joseph is worth more than a handful of coins. Strange, how even his harshness and anger delight me, as the moods of Ayaz pleased the heart of Mahmud. It's the season of gardens and early spring, why sleep? Rise, so we may fill our arms with all we long for. The garden is adorned like Solomon's own court; the dawn bird lifts up a song worthy of David. The bright-hearted reciter, through Sa'di's words, has scattered strung pearls across the king's feast. Heir to the realm of Persia, the greatest Atabak, Sa'd, son of Abu Bakr, son of Sa'd Zangi, the beloved.

How could you ever flee from the hand of death? Your only refuge will be the grave, the house of rest. Even if you win the whole kingdom of the world, do not be proud, for it will not last. Why gloat over wealth, when in a day or two it will all become the share of your heirs? They will drag you from your throne onto a coffin's plank, though you had a thousand treasuries and armies. You must sleep for years in the corner of the tomb; your body will be food for every ant and snake. Even if you bloom in life's garden like a rose, thorns will spring from the dust of your grave. Begging your friends will do you no good; only your deeds will stand by you again. Many a rider there will end up on foot, and many who walked will there be mounted high. Many a prince there will become a captive, and many a captive will hold command. Many a hypocrite preacher and great leader will stand ashamed on the day of reckoning. Why not spare a thought for the hour of resurrection, when the heedless will be in a wretched state? You seek paradise but will not shun sin? Paradise will be the home of the God-fearing. Turn from falsehood and worship the truth like a man; what work could be better than devotion to truth? Prepare for the journey, for the travelers have gone; Saadi's words will remain as a keepsake of you. Every drop of the forbidden will bring you torment; every atom of the lawful will be counted in your favor.

The day our bodies are hidden beneath the earth, and all we have done is laid bare one by one, Lord, by your grace forgive your servant on that moment when he sets out for the other world. Poor human being: even if he were granted a thousand years of reprieve from death and lived in triumph, In the end, when his turn to leave arrives, he departs from here with a hundred thousand regrets. How bitter that hour when our precious body falls onto the bed of humiliation and grows helpless. They tell our friends of our condition, and every moment someone comes by to visit the sick. And whoever is tender and kind toward us rushes to this doctor and that, searching for a cure. But when the physician casts his eye on our face and considers our state, he grows uneasy. He says, ask for such and such a remedy, it will help you; yet all our hope in it turns to loss. Perhaps only a day or two of our life remains, and those one or two days are spent weighing gain and loss. Friends and companions all fret over the outcome: what will become of things, and how will it all end? Until the moment the face changes from its usual look, and our rosy color turns as pale as saffron, And that suffering marks the body so deeply that, from thinness, it becomes like a single thread. The ship of existence falls into the whirlpool of ruin, stripped of action, left without a sail. The angels come and go at the taking of the soul, and when we look, our eyes rain blood. May it be that, in tasting that poisoned cup, the sweetness of faith is on our tongue at the end. Lord, grant us help so that in that hour the words of our tongue match the truth of our heart. Keep our faith safe from Satan's plunder, so that our soul is secure from the torment of your wrath. In short, soul and body part from each other: the bird leaves the cage and returns to its nest. If the soul is foul, it sinks into the ground; if it is pure, it rises above the sky. A cry breaks out in the house that the master is dead, and from high notes to low, the home fills with wailing and grief. On one side a servant weeps aloud, and on another a maid breaks into lament. Like an orphan mourning a single priceless pearl, from tears the dark eyes fill with rare red gems. They bring the coffin, the cotton, the shroud, and the washer of the dead; the chants of mourners rise from edge to edge. They carry the corpse to the lip of the grave, and everyone, after the prayer, heads back home again. Each goes off about his own affairs, while our body lies imprisoned and forlorn in that pit of earth. Then Munkar and Nakir question us about our state, and all these rulings come as a trial. If we have done good, kept prayer, and resisted our own desires, that dark pit becomes a rose garden for us. But if our work was sin, wrongdoing, and vice, fire falls into the grave and it fills with smoke. For a week or two, more or less, morning and evening, a loved one keeps company with us in weeping. A few trays of halva on Thursday nights, out of show, are sent to the house of every grave reciter. And that dear wife who waited out her mourning term now wishes to be bound in marriage to someone else. The shortsighted heir comes searching for the inheritance, and then the quarreling begins over the garden and the shop. A name is left of us, while all our parts lie hidden beneath the earth with sorrow and regret. And then, when a few years have passed in this state, even that name is lost and leaves no trace. That delicate face turns entirely to earth, and that strong body becomes a handful of bones. From the soil of our tomb they bake bricks, and that clay and brick pass costly through the potter's hands. The turning of the ages moves on far past us: at times spring comes, and at times autumn. Until the day of resurrection, when for all the kinds of creatures the bodies rejoin their souls for the reckoning. The command of God, mighty and glorious, over all creation runs completely, group by group. Of every word said and heard, of every evil deed, at the place of accounting each is laid bare one by one. The scales of justice are set up for the people: one pan rises light, the other sinks heavy. Each looks upon his own good and evil, and there one turns grieved, another glad. They set the bridge of Sirat over hell; whoever crosses it comes to dwell in paradise. And whoever's foot trembles on the bridge falls into disgrace and everlasting torment forever. The wicked are taken in by the heat of hell, while God's grace becomes a canopy over the good. Many a face like the moon turns black with shame, and many a stature straight as an arrow bends like a bow with terror. Many a destitute person, through the height of his worth, finds the highest paradise as his festive dwelling. Many a poor old man, in the garden of his desire, catches the scent of paradise and becomes young again. But the wretched slave of ego and desire, in that place, is joined to a hundred thousand sorrows and disgrace. The bounty God spreads out for the obedient: how could a sinner be fit for a place at that table? Happy the heart that, in the safe and joyful sanctuary, becomes a guest at God's table of grace and generosity. This is a matter of fortune; no one knows for certain, Saadi, how your standing in paradise and eternity will be.

On a morning when night and day feel the same, how good it is to walk the open plain and watch the spring. Tell the mystic to leave his cloister and pitch his tent in the flower garden; this is no time to sleep idle at home. The nightingales have come with the roses, singing from longing. You are no less than a drunken nightingale, so sing, you who are still sober. All creation is a reminder from the Lord to the heart; whoever will not confess to God has no heart at all. So many wondrous designs are painted on the walls of existence, yet whoever does not reflect is himself just a figure on a wall. Mountain and sea and trees all sing God's praise, but not every listener grasps these secrets. Do you not hear what the birds of dawn are saying: Wake up, you sleeper, lift your head from the sleep of ignorance? Whoever does not see the trace of His power today, most likely will not see His face tomorrow. How long will you keep your head bowed in heedlessness like the violet? What a pity that you sleep while the narcissus stays awake. Who can make many-colored fruit grow from bare wood? Who can raise a hundred-petaled rose out of a thorn? Now is the time for the bridegroom rose to step out from the bridal chamber of the unseen, while all the trees scatter gifts in welcome. No wonder a human being feels joy, when the cypress, the willow and the plane tree dance in the garden. Wait until the water-swollen bud opens its mouth at dawn, like the fragrant musk pod of a Tartar deer. Here is glad news: the rose is emerging from the bud, and the spring trees shower down a hundred thousand coins. The wind combs the hair of the meadow trees, and the scent of wild rose and clove drifts to every corner. Near dawn the dew has settled on the tulip, like beads of sweat on the rose-scented cheek of the beloved. The wind carries the scent of jasmine, rose, narcissus and willow; with what appeal, then, can the perfumer open his shop? Stock, hollyhock, water lily and amaranth, designs at which the eyes are left amazed. The scattered red of the Judas tree on the green floor of the meadow is like gold coins on a sheet of fine silk brocade. And this is still only the start of world-brightening March; wait until the bounty of April and May pitches its tent. The branches are still the virgin daughters of the garden; wait until they grow pregnant with many-colored fruit. Reason is stunned by the golden cluster of grapes; understanding fails before the ruby casket of the pomegranate. Clusters of dates hang down from the palm, fashioned by fate and destiny, those sweet-working craftsmen. So that the dense shade of the tree is not too dark, under every leaf they place a lamp of pomegranate blossom. Nature has given the apple a different color on every side, just as a beauty puts rouge upon her face. The shape of the pear, you would say, from its sweetness and grace, is a few little jugs of candy hanging on the bough. No fruit is finer once you have said 'the quince'; no greater grace and perfection than this can be shown. The stuffing of the fig is like a master confectioner who works poppy seeds into pure honey. Water flows at the roots of the citron, quince and almond, like the rivers beneath the trees of paradise. Come, open your eyes and look at the making of the orange, you who cannot believe there is fire in the green tree. Pure and flawless is the God who, by His mighty decree, makes the moon and sun, and night and day, subject to His will. He rules with no minister or treasurer, and paints His designs with neither vermilion nor verdigris. The spring bursts from the stone, the rain from the cloud, honey from the bee, and pearls the sea brings forth. We have said much and well upon this theme, yet out of so much we have hardly said a little. Until the Day of Judgment, though all speak of His grace and mercy, not one word in a thousand will ever be told. Who is there who would not gird himself to obey Him? This is the place where even the unbeliever should loosen his idolater's belt. Your blessings, my Lord, are beyond all counting; no one who gives thanks can ever repay Your bounty. All these veils You draw over what we have done, if You should judge our failings, You would leave no one standing. Where can one go, despairing of the door of Your kindness? We cannot endure Your wrath; spare us, O God. The deeds You have seen in us and did not approve, by Your own lordship draw a veil over them, O Concealer. Saadi, the straight-going carry off the ball of good fortune; be upright, for the crooked one never reaches the goal. Alas for a precious life spent on trifles; Lord, for every wrong I have done, a thousand times I ask forgiveness. Shall I tell You my hidden pain, since You are my Lord, or say nothing, since You already know all secrets?