O you, in whose lips flows the water of my life,
And whose bow holds the arrow of my visible strife.

If you do not conceal this beauty with a veil,
Then every slain in the city lies on your trail.

I would not liken your face to the sun’s shine,
For praising the sun belittles the grandeur of thine.

Even if your glance meets mine with fleeting care,
Or not—your decree is yours to declare.

Every day, people seek new friends and affairs,
But my sole devotion lies at your threshold, where it fares.

Many fruit-bearing trees have I seen in bloom,
Yet none compares to the one in your garden’s room.

The garden’s fault is not in denying friends its treasure,
The gardener’s refusal, though, causes displeasure.

Many thoughts have come to my heart and then departed,
But the image of you remains, deeply imprinted and charted.

A thousand times, if you show me enmity anew,
O friend, my heart remains ever kind to you.

Saadi, seek union only within your scope and state,
For the Simurgh does not suit the crow’s humble gate.