And as he left the placid meadow land, He heard the news of more important things. XLIII AUTUMN COMES FROM THE NORTH WITH THE INTENTION OF ADMINISTERING THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN There was a king, distributor of gold, Well skilled the world to deck in brilliant hues, Upon the world he shed magnificence, A glorious king munificent of gold. High in the North his palace home was set, There ever throned in clemency he sat. This king was of a disposition cold, And moderation was his ruling trait. His sole employment was to scatter gold, To give mankind the pleasure of its glow. In other excellencies he was rich, But there was none that scattered gold like him. He was a painter, too, of rarest skill, Unique in art and generosity. Before the glory of his varied tints Pale all the masterpieces of the world. He tints the leafy curtain of the earth, And Mani’s self might wonder at the work. He is a painter great, of faultless touch, A colorist of an unerring skill, He gives a soul to every quivering leaf, Until it shows a hundred tints of fire. He stamps it with the lustre of the gold, Until its very shadow is aflame. He colors with the potency of skill With haze of rose and saffron every copse. The master of a double art is he, And famous for his skill in either part, And every artist to whom he is known Him by none other name but Autumn calls. In might and wisdom he is affluent, And by his grace and kindness ever warm, And through his reign the world was kept at peace, Because he gave such freedom to the world. He showered his gifts on every land and clime, A paragon of generosity, And through his gifts, at last reduced to earth, He leaves at least the hungry satisfied. Through him of little worth was reckoned gold, He scattered it around like dust and soil. Though he was famous for his graciousness, Well did he know to injure by his might. When he was angry all his breath was frost, And those who saw him with affright grew pale. The world its face of summer loveliness Was changed to other colors at his touch, For fear of him the rose garden grew faint, And sallowed into tints of mellow gold. He was a wonder worker of his kind, Pity in him went hand in hand with rage. Cold was he by his nature, half of ice And half of water was his intellect. Yet ofttimes did he blaze with glance of heat, The blessing that he brought outweighed the bane, And when he gently spoke with anyone His countenance was lit with radiant warmth. Yet toward the end he turned to bitter cold, And kept that bearing to the very end. Shah August once in regal state assumed His seat among the nobles in Divan. He gathered round him all his ministers To greet his emirs and his noblemen, When suddenly there came to him the news