An apology for the writing of the book.

Not Gabriel, but the genius my pen*183, inscribes upon my page the words which come:
For such a spell which is by genius taught put on new dress, for ’tis the New Year’s time*184.
From evil genii keep it so concealed that it be seen by none but Solomon*185.
Seek me from it, for ’tis my essence, know*186. What (else) am I? A piece of skin (still) left*187.
Without the ring’s inscription I’m but wax, (wax) free from both the honey and the bee*188,
Till with his ring’s inscription Solomon make such form of impression as he will.
Whether the face be red or whether black*189, the monarch’s scribe’s the painter (of the face)*190.
If no one seek my perfume (still) my musk is store good and sufficient for my silk*191.
In poetry on me it has devolved to give pure gold, not gold with half alloy.
The eloquent*192 who spoke that which was fit became fatigued and fell asleep at last.
I, looper of the knots, the alchemy and bond of travellers to the village am*193.
Of those species of verse in vogue before no one fresh fruit has given more than I*194.
Though wanting in new words I have full skill to express my sense in clear and various terms*195.
The skin without the fruit I think a dream; the fruit without the skin as water take*196.
With all my rare and novel mode of speech, I turn not from the older excellence*197.—
From thus arranging pearls there’s no result save with a measure measuring the wind*198.
What is there touching gems of treasured store that I, of gems a weigher, have not weighed*199?
Though many a special treasure I have oped, to the supremely pure I’ve found no key*200.
With all the dainties which at dawn descend, in deprecation I am still engaged*201.
Nizāmī, your Messiah is your breath; your Tree of Mary is your learning gained*202.
Since you’ve become disperser of its dates, you’ve gained good fortune, be it well with you*203!