Return to Shiraz

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.