[I know] an idol whose Shaper shaped him
beautiful of make. He came out matchlessly.
God made him a thing of beauty, a thing of wonder,
to be the prototype of Paradise's maidens.
Why else adorn his features with that languid fineness,
or paint his eyes with looks that don't let go?
Flecked with downy whiskers of an ingénu,
his cheeks are like the facets of a jewel.
His frame was elegantly draughted,
a study in dark shade against the light.
His lovers are forgiven their madness,
now that the down beards him,
and the dew of his cheek flashes
with what flashes on the cheek of
a bringer of joyous news.
He brandishes his coquetry like a rose
kissed by blazing drops of unstrung pearls.
Envy leads to grief. You see it on the face of
lesser beauties, [sharp] as the grief of parted lovers.
I reckon his excellence without parallel or equal
to be beyond compare.
How many mad lovers fall to their knees in his precinct
like Moses in the precinct of the Mount?
When his banner comes waving, they're like
prisoners of war beholding the countenance
of their next commander
By Nasr ibn Ahmad al-Khubza’aruzzi (meter: kāmil)
