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بخش ۵۴ - مقاله هفدهم در اشارت به حسن خوبان و جمال محبوبان که دلفریب ترین گل این بهارستانند و ناشکیب ترین نقش این نگارستان / Section 54 - The Seventeenth Discourse on the Allusion to the Beauty of the Lovely Ones and the Comeliness of the Beloveds, Who Are the Most Heart-Ravishing Flowers of This Springtime Garden and the Most Restless Designs of This Portrait Gallery

Original content

نقش سراپرده شاهیست حسن
لمعه خورشید الهیست حسن

حسن که در پرده آب و گل است
تازه کن عهد قدیم دل است

آن که شد این سلسله بنیاد ازو
لایحه حسن دهد یاد ازو

ما که چنین کشته هر مهوشیم
سوخته خرمن ز همان آتشیم

در دل هر سوخته جوشی که هست
بر لب هر خسته خروشی که هست

یک شرر از گرمی آن آتش است
وقت کسی خوش که به آتش خوش است

ای که چو شکل خوشت آراستند
فتنه ارباب نظر خواستند

قد تو سرویست بهشتی چمن
روی تو شمعیست سپهر انجمن

صورت موزون تو نظم جمال
مطلع آن جبهه فرخنده فال

جبهه ات از نور چو مطلع نوشت
ابرویت از مشک دو مصرع نوشت

سطری از ابروی تو خوشتر نبود
لیک کج آمد چو به مسطر نبود

تابد ازان مطلع مهر ارتفاع
بر مه رخسار تو هر دم شعاع

هست دو چشمت ز شعاعش دو عین
بینی سیمین الفی بین بین

چشمه نوشت که عجب جانفزاست
از لب تو تا به لب آب بقاست

خضر خطت خرقه کبود آمده
بر لب آن چشمه فرود آمده

گوی زنخدان تو با گوی سیم
هست چو سیبی ز لطافت دو نیم

آب لطافت چکد از غبغبت
نیست بسی راه ازان تا لبت

بلکه خوی طلعت رخشان توست
گرد شده زیر زنخدان توست

خال زنخدانت به دلتنگیی
مانده به گرداب بلا زنگیی

بر لبت آن دانه مشکین که هست
تخم غم هر دل غمگین که هست

مشک به رخسار چو گلنار تو
نقطه زده بر خوی رخسار تو

ورد طری لرزه کنان بر تنت
کبک دری طوق کش گردنت

سینه تو چون دل عشاق صاف
جیب کسان چاک ازو تا به ناف

از ستم بازوی تو کرده بیم
زان زده در ساعد تو پنجه سیم

با تو اگر دولت همزانویی
هست نصیب کسی آن هم تویی

بهر تماشاگری روی خویش
آینه کن لیک ز زانوی خویش

نیست به تو همقدمی حد کس
سایه تو همقدم توست و بس

صد پی اگر از قدم فکر و رای
از سرت آییم فرو تا به پای

یک به یک اعضای تو موزون بود
هر یک ازان دیگری افزون بود

جلوه حسن تو در افزونی است
آیینه چونی و بیچونی است

صورت چونی شده از وی عیان
معنی بیچون شده در وی نهان

قبله هر دیده ور این آینه ست
منظر اهل نظر این آینه ست

جلوه این آینه نور بار
از نظر بی بصران دور دار

کور چه داند که در آیینه چیست
عکس خود افکنده بر آیینه کیست

چهره نهان دار که آلودگان
جز ره بیهوده نپیمودگان

چون به جمال تو نظر واکنند
آرزوی خویش تماشا کنند

دیده شهوت نتوانند بست
از غرض خاطر صورت پرست

با تو بجز راه هوا نسپرند
جز به غرض روی تو را ننگرند

روی غرض چون نبود نورمند
زود ازین آینه دلپسند

سیر شود چشم غرض بینشان
رنج و ملالت شود آیینشان

از نظر انداخته خوارش کنند
تیره رخ از گرد و غبارش کنند

English translation

Beauty is the design of the royal pavilion; Beauty is the ray of the divine sun. Beauty that is behind the veil of water and clay Refreshes the ancient covenant of the heart. The one from whom this chain was founded, A reminder of beauty is recalled from him. We who are thus slain by every moon-faced one, Are harvest-burned by that very fire. In the heart of every scorched one, whatever boiling there is, On the lips of every weary one, whatever clamor there is, Is a single spark from the heat of that fire; Happy is the one who is pleased with the fire. O you who, when your beautiful form was adorned, Were intended as a temptation for the possessors of sight. Your stature is a cypress of the heavenly meadow, Your face is a candle of the assembly of the sky. Your well-proportioned form is the order of beauty, The rising-place of which is that auspicious forehead. When your forehead wrote of light as a rising-place, Your eyebrow wrote two hemistichs with musk. No line was more beautiful than your eyebrow, Yet it came crooked, as it was not drawn with a ruler. From that rising-place of the sun, high in elevation, A ray shines upon the moon of your cheek at every moment. From its rays, your two eyes are two fountains, And your silver nose is an Alif between them. The fountain of sweetness, which is wonderfully soul-refreshing, From your lips is connected to the lips of the water of immortality. The green down of your beard has come as a blue cloak, And has descended at the edge of that fountain. The chin-dimple's ball with the silver ball, Is like an apple split in half out of delicacy. The water of delicacy drips from your double-chin, And there is not much distance from there to your lips. Rather, it is the sweat of your radiant countenance, Which has gathered beneath your chin. The mole on your chin, in its confinement, Remains like an Abyssinian in the whirlpool of calamity. On your lips, that musky grain that exists, Is the seed of grief for every sorrowful heart. Musk on your cheek, which is like pomegranate flowers, Has dotted the sweat of your cheek. The fresh rose trembles on your body, The wild partridge wears a collar around your neck. Your breast is pure like the hearts of lovers, Tearing the collars of people from there to the navel. Fearing the tyranny of your arm, The silver claws have grasped your forearm. If the fortune of sitting knee-to-knee with you Is anyone's lot, it is you yourself. For the sake of watching your own face, Make a mirror, but from your own knees. Keeping pace with you is not within anyone's power; Your shadow is your only companion, and that is all. If a hundred times, with the steps of thought and counsel, We traverse you from head to foot, One by one, your limbs are harmonious, Each one surpassing the other in beauty. The manifestation of your beauty is ever-increasing; It is the mirror of howness and howlessness. The form of how has become manifest through it, And the meaning of howless has remained hidden within it. The Qiblah of every observer is this mirror, The sight of the possessors of vision is this mirror. Keep the manifestation of this light-showering mirror Away from the sight of those without vision. What does a blind person know of what is in the mirror? Whose reflection is cast upon the mirror? Hide your face, for those who are defiled, Who have trodden nothing but the path of vanity, When they open their eyes to your beauty, Behold nothing but their own desire. They cannot close the eye of lust, Out of the selfish purpose of the form-worshiping mind. With you, they traverse nothing but the path of passion, They look upon your face with nothing but selfish intent. Since the face of intent is not luminous, Soon from this delightful mirror, The eye of their intent-seeking sight will grow weary, And pain and vexation will become their custom. They will cast it down, despising it, And darken its face with dust and ashes.

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Updated 2026-07-07

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Humanities

Literature

Persian Literature Prerequisite Course

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