Classic Poem

I grant that famed for their beauty are the women of China,
Of Kashmir, Bokhara, and the land of High Tartary.
Yet mine own eyes have beheld the maidens of the Afghans.
Why then, hereafter, should I look on other women?

Pure is their race. Of the lineage of Jacob are they.
They need neither musk nor attar of red roses.
For is there a sweeter scent than the scent of their piety,
Praying five times each day to Allah, the King, the One?

They need neither bracelets nor nose-rings nor necklaces,
Since, more precious than jewels, are their black tresses.
They need no embroidered shawls, no robes of scarlet muslin,
Preferring the exquisite chastity of simple white face veils.

Sweeter are their hidden charms than those flaunted by shameless foreign women.
For the maidens of Afghanistan are virtuous.
They spend their time in the seclusion of their homes,
And go not about, like others I know, with their bodies half-naked.

They are so modest that they never drop their face veils
And raise bold eyes to passersby in the bazaars.
They do not curse their men; nor nag them;
Nor clench fists in red anger.

And I, Khushal Khan of the Khatak,
Have spoken but little of what is much.
Silent I shall be on this matter, though it is boundless.