Muntakhab al-tawarikh 49.4.1

49.4.1

The month of Dai has arrived, and the air has in consequence become so cold
That nothing save the icy breeze can move from its place.
The earth is cold and frost bound, the air is even colder than the earth,
In very truth the air is chill with the weariness of age.
In the garden the fire of the tulip and Gulnar have died down,
From the cold the (graceful) trees of the garden have become mere sticks.
The water is hard frozen from the cold, and says with petulance,
I will break if anyone places his foot upon my head.
No single bud comes out from its resting place in the heart of the tree, although it wears upon its cypress-like body a cap and mantle.
The bird has ceased its song when it saw the havoc wrought by autumn,
When a general pillage is going on, lamentation is futile.
Seek not for leaves and seed-bearing fruit in the garden, for to-day
The leaves have been scattered by the wind, the seeds remain hidden beneath the earth.
The morning breeze draws every breath like a deep drawn sigh,
Seeing that it has cast to the winds so beauteous a being as the rose.
So far has the rose gone that should you search the East and the West,
You will not find it save in the assembly of the King of the World,
Shah Mahmud from the splendour of whose assemblies, there is eternal spring in the month of Dai, and the world is like Paradise.
He who when he draws up his array, and orders it for battle, The lines of the enemies at the very sight of him pale with terror.