There was a messenger by nature high, From head to foot he shone with dazzling light. His nature was illumination’s soul, His traffic was the ministry of fire, He scattered light throughout the universe, And to the zenith reared his lofty brow. ’Twas fire that wrought the jewelry of light, His name was nothing but the morning sun. As lord and as field marshal forth he went And spurred his courser into Gulistan. King Spring was startled by the news he heard, That thus his foe had hither made his way. He gathered all his nobles for advice, And stirred up all his force for feats of arms. He roused them all for war, the residents Of rose garden he summoned to the strife. The lily drew her broadsword from the sheath, The thorns in hand their pricking arrows held. Even the cypress now prepared for war, Stood ready with her needles like a lance. The tulips spread their petals like a bow, And even the dew prepared its pebble-stones. The violets bent them to a hostile bow, The daisies shot their arrows into air, The stream put on its glittering coat of mail, And stood enclothed in panoply of steel. Like janizaries all the plants around, Held in their hand their pikes and partisans. And every bud a threatening bludgeon bore, And put themselves as shields before the Rose. They stood in ordered ranks as warriors ranged For war and conflict in the cause of right. Now when the sun into rose garden came A fiery volley straightway he discharged, And with his heat began to devastate, Like to some torch-bearer of Eastern kings. And lo! the dwellers in the rose garden Dwindled, consumed like tapers in a mosque. The lily wilted like a sinking flame, And quickly dropped the broadsword from her hand. The crimson tulips burnt to dusky black, And dropped their blazoned targes from their hand. In a rude mass the verdant bowers collapsed, And the whole city into ashes turned. Who can withstand the ravages of the fire? Who can wage war against its deadly line? When to Shah Spring this news at last was brought His splendor and his power faded away. Although he struggled to maintain the strife, He saw that he was fated to defeat, And straightway he betook himself to flight, Forsook the field of battle for retreat. Retreat is cowardly, yet there are times When stoutest valor counsels a retreat. When stronger foes o’ermaster those who fight Retreat is better than to rashly stand. Such was the thought that swayed the monarch Spring, And so he took the Rose and fled with her. He mounted quickly to an alpine crag, Which bordered on a chain of savage hills, And all his followers he took with him, And all the mountain side was peopled o’er, And so he rested on the towering peak, And lived henceforth in safety and in peace.