I open now the door of history—
The charming record of the days of yore—
To speak of Gang-i-Siyáwush to thee,
The city, and the city's ancient lore.
Praise be to Him by Whom the world was wrought,
The Maker of the unknown and the known,
The Lord of being and not being; aught
Besides hath peers, but God is One alone.
Praiso to the Prophet, and to those who bore
Him company our praises be addressed,
And since the righteous flourish here no more
Speak not of taking this world for thy rest.
Where are the heads and crowns of kings of kings?
Where are the gallant, noble athelings?
Where are the doctors and the scientists?
Where are the labour-bearing annalists?