Upon a certain morning, when the day O’er all the world lay like an open rose, When day was bright with sweet fruition’s bliss, And the world’s face was like a rose fountain, When the world opened like a petaled rose, And folk like nightingales sang out for joy, Then was it that the Rose, in Gulistan, Adorned herself with caftan of pure gold. Red was she both without, and red within, And red the turban high that crowned her brow. She decked herself with gladness and with joy, And o’er her shoulders flung a mantle green. And to atone for all past suffering She sends out invitations to a feast, That she may cheer with brightness troubled hearts, And fill their goblets with the wine of joy. She gave the tulips word of her design, And bade them crown with wine the gleaming cup. She told the dew to pour its sparkling wine Into the chalice of each opening flower. She bade narcissus with his beaker full, To show himself that day a roysterer, And that the cypress should before the gate Stand seneschal, awaiting her command. She saw the meadow carpeted with green, And all new garmented the world of flowers. The stately lily dropped her gleaming sword, And stood with peaceful mien beside her hearth. The hyacinth forsook his plots of ill, And thought upon his rightful services. And as the Rose this firman sent abroad, All Gulistan was decked for holiday. And to the garden feast they hurried fast, Bent on the recreation of their hearts. The Rose herself, with happy mien, assumed The place of honor in the rose garden, And all the other nobles sat around, In ranks and orders at the garden feast; And the bright cup went round from lip to lip; And each to other pledged the beady wine. In cup of virgin gold, a foaming draught The Rose with loving laughter drank to all. And twice again the ruddy wine she quaffed, With heart and eye fixed on the Nightingale. She saw that from the circle of her court, The bird, all solitary, sat aloof. And then her veil she lifted from her face, That she, against her wont, might plain be seen; And said: “The time for sorrow has gone by, Now let each sufferer plead his cause to us. Then wherefore should the Bulbul sit apart, Rather than gladden with his lays our feast? For now in separation’s deadly night, Well has he earned the glory of the dawn. “Go,” to the East Wind said she, “bring to me That mourning minstrel for this festal hour.” The East Wind, nourisher of all that lives, Well knew the goodness of the princess’ heart; And thus he spoke unto the Nightingale: “O sorrow singer, let thy lot be bliss. The Rose, who greets thee now with kindliness, Invites thee to her festal gathering; O Bulbul, now distress thyself no more, For thou hast reached the goal of thy desire.”