O you, whose graceful stature outshines the cypress tree,
My heart rejoices in your beauty more than your face does, endlessly.
No longer do I fear the deadly blade of fate,
For your blood-thirsty glances are far more innate.
I’ve always worn the garment of meaning with pride,
Yet it drapes your elegant form with greater stride.
If my pure gaze is mocked by envious foes,
Praise be, my beloved’s hem remains purer than those.
Since the flower of your face blossomed in the garden of grace,
The veil of my patience tore, unable to embrace.
Tread upon Saadi’s eyes gently if you walk past,
For even the dust at your doorstep holds more honor, steadfast.