أبى سيد السادات إلا تظرفا — أبو الحسن الجرجاني

The lord of lords would have nothing but refinement,

And nothing but enduring union and tender kindness.

Time favored me in this, so I imagined it

Had recoiled from wronging me, repented, and come to my aid.

And a slender-waisted one—if a branch had some of his form,

It would splinter; calling him slender-waisted is a shame.

He waited for the slanderers' lapses of attention, then visited us,

Turning aside from the straight road in fear.

His two sandals touched no place where he stepped

Upon the earth without bestowing pride on it.

And eyes behold his cheeks, then turn away,

Scattering plucked roses upon the ground.

I said: Is this a dream, or fancies of infatuation

That picture him—or has God raised Joseph from the dead?

And why has the full moon appeared while the sun has not set?

I try to make it withdraw and be eclipsed.

Did your eyes not fear an evil eye striking them,

And this bough of yours not fear splintering when it bent?

Nor were the slanderers warned against his glances

By the flashing of a keen sword between his eyelids.

He said, “I came to you out of longing and ardent love

For you, to honor you, and eager to see you.

And a noble man is not one who, when present, treats fairly

His brother, but one who is fair when absent.”

He departed, and in my utter bewilderment I did not know

Whether to soar with joy or die of sorrow.

So, O visit that did not heal a heart enslaved by love,

But increased my passion, so it redoubled!

When we contemplated the gift, I thought he

Had taken shape in it as delight and refinement.

And when we extended the gift toward them, I thought he

Saw in it the wasting of love for him, and pared it down

To broad beans, which it was feared could not be carried

By my hands, so stricken with love for him; so he halved them.

We carried on our fingertips—and scarcely could—

Fingers whose beauty made them too proud to dye their tips.

And black ones, soaked in oils and given

Through reddening a dusky hue from the fire.

Like Zanj mouths: you see the skin black,

And, when they cool, see silver fitted together.

Like a beloved's manner: he feared an envier's chatter,

So he showed estrangement, while keeping faith at heart.

And one snatched from the nest of a tender mother,

To whom his capture and mistreatment would be grievous.

He is fed like a child whose sickness lingered long,

So his parents took pity on him and fluttered over him.

Then, when feather-tips appeared, as though they were

The first shoots of plants rising after rain,

One whose great beneficence was hoped for undertook his care,

And tended him more closely, more tenderly, more compassionately.

He is fed by mouth with what he loves, and given what he craves,

And kept from moving about after he is full.

Then, when eyes beheld him in wonder,

And it was said, “He has reached the limit—nay, surpassed it and gone to excess!”

He shed blood he had formerly guarded,

Like the tear of a heartsick one whom estrangement had frightened.

He thrashed until I thought his wing

Was my heart awhile; then he was swiftly dispatched, and his light went out.

Then he was brought like a captive over whom

His enemies had gained mastery after battle, and so he was bound.

He had sisters like him, brought together in pairs,

Just as the two had once been joined together.

And the true omen said to me with glad tidings:

“Thus forever, as long as you both live—be united!”

Oh, what a meal, in remembrance of one through whom

The world becomes sweet to us, whether he is kind or cold!

Never before today have I seen a giver's gift

More delightful and splendid—nay, grander and nobler.

Through it we learned how to show refinement thereafter;

And whoever keeps company with a noble, refined man becomes refined.