I have not seen a face so lovely and fair,
Nor locks so enchanting, beyond compare.
If that heartless one, with silver-limbed grace,
Hides their visage, musk betrays their trace.
O you, who align beauty with virtue sublime,
No face or character surpasses thine.
Blame me not if, in helplessness, I spin,
For your strikes with the polo stick are no sin.
Whoever has once been scorched by love’s flame,
Loves the cry of the drunken and their untamed acclaim.
In love’s marketplace, we embrace blame’s sting;
Not the secluded peace that piety may bring.
No further charm need the garden attain,
Save for a cypress like you by the stream’s refrain.
O fragrant rose, though spring may return for an age,
A nightingale like me shall never grace its stage.
Saadi, if you cannot kiss their hand above,
Then bow your face at their feet in love.