The Gulistan, or Rose Garden, is the mature work of Sa'di of Shiraz, written after decades of travel through Arabia, Syria, and Asia Minor and a return to a hermitage and garden in his home city. It is prose mixed with verse, arranged as eight chapters, each an essay-like gathering of disjointed paragraphs. A paragraph usually opens with an anecdote or an aphorism and closes with a few lines of original poetry.
The first chapter, on the customs of kings, treats rulers as people watched by everyone. A king spares a condemned man because a courtier's kind lie pleased him more than a rival's spiteful truth. A prince teaches that a short wise man is worth more than a tall blockhead. The lesson running underneath is that high office magnifies every word and deed, so it demands more justice and self-command, not less.
Chapters two through four turn to inner life. Among the dervishes Sa'di prizes a holiness that lives in conduct rather than in a patched cloak, and he warns that the outward habit proves nothing about the heart. The chapter on contentment praises the freedom of wanting little, since without patience there is no wisdom and without contentment there is no wealth. The chapter on silence weighs speech, counselling restraint because rivals note only what is bad and a secret once divulged can no longer be guarded.
The middle and later chapters widen the view across a whole life: love and youth, then the weakness of old age, then the impressions of education. Sa'di holds that schooling works only where the inner capacity is sound, since no polish takes on iron of bad temper, yet he also insists that knowledge is a portable and unfailing wealth that thieves cannot steal and exile cannot strip away. Princes above all must be formed early, because their faults are echoed where a poor man's pass unnoticed.
The final chapter, on the duties of society, reads as a book of conduct in miniature. Riches are for the comfort of life, not life for the hoarding of riches; the fortunate man is the one who spent and gave, the unfortunate the one who died and left a heap behind. Learning is meant to strengthen practice, not to serve worldly traffic, for a learned man without works is a bee without honey. Sa'di's closing claim is that he wove plain admonition into elegant language so the bitter medicine of counsel could be swallowed.