Which one has followed the right road in verse
So that there are no wrong steps in his gait
Which one has traversed the spiritual world?
Whose vision has been disturbed by the abyss of madness?”
I humbly said to the Shāh, “O Protector of speech,
The record of the society of poets is not ignoble
The eloquent who before this have uttered speech,
From whose lips have been struck out jeux d'esprit
Were all wise and pure of heart
And kept themselves pure from iniquity
They drew true pictures by the movement of their thoughts
They revealed subtleties by the quickness of their intellects
All are present by the witness of their souls though their bodies are hidden (i.e. they are dead)
All exist by their divine personality, though themselves have perished
Especially that most eloquent one of ūs (Firdūsi)
Who was an old husbandman of the gardens of speech
Estimate his deeds from the Shāhnāma
For Rustum of Sijistān is not his equal in strength of arm
Save this he reaped no harvest, it was loss
That he lived in the time of the slaves of Nūḥ* Samānī
Had he been in the appreciative cycle of the Shāhinshāh
His days would not have been dark nights.
Next comes the Ghaznī toper* whose spiritual wine
Gives lasting intoxication to the soul,
Ask not about that parterre-adorner of the garden
For he has made pomegranate plots in his garden
'Tis a variegated garden so that were it terrestrial
You might gather flowers from it for a hundred Springs
It would be fitting to write with the ink of the heart
The truth-showing excellencies of the Shirwānī* His choicest work is the “Taḥfa-al-'Irāqīn”
It should be passed from hand to hand like a flower
Ask not after the magical work of the treasure-scattering Treasurer*
For his pen was a dragon over hidden treasures
If another's poems are placed beside his
It is like putting a false prophet's* fancies by the text of the Quran
Of Anwarī what shall I write; from whose genius
Burning* rays flash out to highest heaven
The combination of spiritual fervour with ability
Is like nature contending with the crisis of illness
Behold the sweet-tongued ahīr* who produced
A spiritual banquet of fresh dainties
But his excellencies were not as fully known
As is the collyrium* of Ispahan farmed in the world
Critics call him “the creator of ideas”*
You will perceive that his lofty ideas are not threadbare
God be praised for the hierophant who in the invisible world
Became a Solomon by his “Language of Birds”
From 'Aār* comes the medicine for lovers' pains
For when his shop was broken up, he received the Holy Ghost.
Behold the sugar-sprinkling of S'aadī whose spirit's plume
Waves o'er his sweet genius like a fly-flapping fan
He shed joy among the spiritual nightingales

Who sang sweetly in his Bostān and Gulistān
Khusrū* of Hind is ancestor of the spiritual Khusrūs
Who wielded sovereignty over spiritual thrones
He is the admired Lord of Lords of speech's kingdoms
For his sway extends over Īrān and Tūrān
What shall I say of the exquisite conceits of Ḥāfi
Men and* spirits know the mystic tongue,
The soft flow of the Kirmānī* garland-twiner
Gives fresh life to the adult brain
The eloquence of Akhsīktī* and Umānī*
Is not inferior to that of Isferangī* and abasī*
In fine, to number the pillars of spirituality
Unless we pass over many like Rafī' Lunbānī*
Requires that the equitable critic of his rivals should possess
Such rapidity as existed in the tradition of Solomon!*
Hail to the inspired songster of Jām
Before whose eyes the spectacle of worlds was effaced
From his abundant pleasantness words mingled with subtleties
Spirituality shone forth in a beauteous form
No one after him attained to his universality
Eloquence in prose and verse closed with him

To compare competitors with him
Would be the tale of the swift steed and the pack bullock
One by one, all have reposed on the bed of death
They have drawn over their heads the sash of concealment.
In the ear in which such profound strokes repose
What place is there for such and such's poetry?
Now, too, there are innumerable poets
But they're set on property and the dog-keeper's board
They have a dog's hunger and in pursuit of their desires
And for want of bread have thrown all honour in the dust
They are blinded and are bad craftsmen of an obsolete pattern
Their darkened souls are mud-choked, deserted wells
They are captives to the buying and selling noxious goods
In the market of disgrace, which may the dust of time cover,
Sometimes they bring out rough expressions
Which look like sheets thrown over the body of the sense
Sometimes they produce frigid conceits in a hot garb
Like cold water poured in winter into a hot bath
They carve undressed potsherds and on them
Affix the price of Badakhshān rubies
Their compositions are so rugged that they won't stick
To the heart even if you fasten them with glue
If you dip their poems in the Seven Seas
They will come out dry as dust-scattering sand
They have robbed a hundred volumes from the masters
So what they have pillaged cannot be counted,
To the fancy the inky pages of their writings
Look like the black blanketed, asinine Multanīs*
With iron pen, nay, with diamond pen
The've drawn useless lines on truth's pages
A heart that looks for the colour of truth in their poems
Asks from the rattan the flower of the anemone

'Tis best to shut the garden-door in their faces
For this ragged* crew would throw the flowers into the dust?
As no one (else) was in the world, I this day am he
Who makes speech new in a new divān
I'm a stranger from the spiritual country in this station
Of the caravan of speech and have all its equipment
Now has heaven granted me the key of speech
The aperture is from the heart, the turning of the key is from me
The angelic ones of the pleasant home of fancy
Have made all my meanings hourīs and pages
They have watched over the beauteous tablet and writing
And preserved my pen from the scraping of calumny.
My interview with the slave-cherishing Shāhinshāh
Was like the conversation of Moses with God
He said, “Rise and draw wisdom from your pen
For to-day the world of speech-knowing is entrusted to you
Set your pen to subtleties for in the wonders of verse
Farazdaq* is mean beside you, and so is Hissānī*
What magic is there in the tricklings from your pen
That it should surpass in colour the masterpiece of Mānī?”
The order was, “Present to us of your subtle poetry
Whatever amount you can, in future
Any poet who contends with you in speech
Should have his neck twisted by you with correction's hand”
What shall I say of the golden dress of red silk
Of me the naked being clothed in gold from head to foot?
What shall I say of how when drawn up from the dust
I was exalted by receiving a swift horse (caugānī)?

What shall I say of the treasures of his favour
Of white and red money I gathered in purses?
What shall I say of how I received
All that befitted a Khān and a Tarkhān?
Two blessings showed themselves to me from fortune's door,
My evil horoscope* was changed to a good one
One was, I was made a tutor to the great princes
Who were branches of the tree of honour
1st, There was H.M. Sulan Selīm the ocean-hearted
The bridal chamber of whose intellect is the billowy ocean
2nd, Shāh Murād the winged broidery of Hope
Who makes the skirt of heaven his collar
3rd, The courteous Daniel whose happy stars
Have bestowed on him brotherhood
But in truth I was when beside them
Like a schoolboy before his old Instructor
Hail heaven-minded ones who in their perfect wisdom
Are joined with the spheres in world-government
'Tis a mistake to turn to letters the eyes of him
Whose heart-eyes are opened to Reason's tablets
For why should a head lighted by the rays of guidance
Deposit the blackness of ink in its heart's* core?
The other blessing was the prostration of discipleship
Whereby I lowered the strength of sensuality,
By heaven's kindness each of those two great boons
Is a bounteous favour to my star,
World-protecting Shāh, Sun of mighty power
Who is to-day the life of the world, and the world of the living
I speak the truth, for the seven* moulds
You impart the soul; and the soul which is the soul of souls,
Together with the glory of fortune, majesty of nature, and height of power