The lovely face of yon Khusrev, whose soul is light, behold!
This chase now to the grave hath sent the Behram of the Age;
Go, at his threshold serve, King Erdeshir aright, behold!
The blast of Fate to all the winds hath blown Suleiman's throne;
Sultan Selim Khan on Iskender's couch of might, behold!
The Tiger of the mount of war to rest in sleep hath gone;
The Lion who doth now keep watch on glory's height, behold!
The Peacock fair of Eden's mead hath soared to Heaven's parterre;
The luster of the huma of high, happy flight, behold!
Eternal may the glory of the heaven-high Khusrev dwell!