The story is cited in the monumental spiritual epic Canticle of the Birds, written by the mystical poet Farîd-ud-Dîn ‘Attâr (1146-1221 ).

All the birds in the world gather one day to discuss who their Sovereign king is and where they can find him. The gathering takes place in King Solomon’s court. Solomon who understands and speaks the language of the birds presides over the reunion. The little bird Hoopoe knows that Sîmorgh is the Sovereign Being’s name and that she lives in Mount Qâf, the mythical mountain which is believed to connect heaven and earth.

According to the legend dating back to Zoroaster, Sîmorgh would blaze up within herself only to be reborn from its ashes.  A single feather of Sîmorgh fallen on earth was enough to give color to the whole world and to stir longing and love within the soul-birds.

Late one moonless night
The Sîmorgh first appeared
She let a feather float down through the air,
And rumours of its fame spread everywhere (i)

Having stirred up in the depth of their souls, thousands of longing birds gathered on that day decide to set on the journey to reach the Sovereign Sîmorgh. Among them, the little bird Hoopoe, sanctified by King Solomon is given the mission to be their guide. But the journey is long and full of danger. It takes plenty of courage, endurance and a strong will to pursue the quest. They have to cross  seven valleys before reaching the gates of Sîmorgh’s place : the valley of the Quest, the valley of Love, the valley of Insight into Mystery, the valley of Detachment and Serenity, the valley of Unity, the valley of Awe; and the valley of Poverty and Nothingness.

Confronted with the difficulties of the quest, many of the birds started to give up on the way, some returned and some perished.

The nightingale made his excuses first. He said he already knows the secrets of love and cannot leave his beloved rose behind. Without the love of the rose, he would lose his reason and his song would fail.

The Nightingale’s Excuse (ii)

The sweet notes of the melancholy lute,
The plaintive wailing of the lovesick flute

When love speaks in the soul my voice replies
In accents plangent as the ocean’s sighs.

When winter comes, I see my love has gone –
I am silent then, and sing no lover’s song!

And when the springs return and she is there
Diffusing musky perfumes everywhere

I sing again, and tell the secrets of
My aching heart, dissolving them in love.

My love is for the rose; I bow to her;
From her dear presence I could never stir.

I am so drowned in love that I can find.
No thought of my existence in my mind.

Her worship is sufficient life for me;
The quest for her is my reality

And nightingales are not robust or strong;
The path to find the Sîmorgh is too long.

My love is here; the journey you propose
Cannot beguile me from my life –the rose.

It is for me she flowers, what greater bliss
Could life provide me –anywhere – than this?

Her buds are mine; she blossoms in my sight –
How could I leave her for a single night?

The Hoopoe Answered Him :

Dear nightingale,
The superficial love which makes you quail

Is only for the outward show of things.
Renounce delusion and prepare your wings

For our great quest; sharp thorns defend the rose
And beauty such as hers too quickly goes.

True love will see such empty transience
For what it is –a fleeting turbulence

That fills your sleepless nights with grief and blame –
Forget the rose’s blush and blush for shame!

Each spring she laughs, not for you as you say,
But at you –and has faded in a day.

The Duck’s Excuse (iii)

The coy duck waddled from her stream and quacked:
Now none of you can argue with the fact

That both in this world and the next I am
The purest bird that ever flew or swam;

I spread my prayer-mat out and all the time
I clean myself of every bit of grime

As god commands. There is no doubt in my mind
That purity like mine is hard to find;

Among the birds, I’m like an anchorite –
My soul and feathers are a spotless white.

I live in water and I cannot go
To places where no streams or rivers flow;

They wash away a world of discontent –
Why should I leave this perfect element?

Fresh water is my home, my sanctuary;
What use would arid deserts be to me?

I cannot leave water –think what water gives;
It is the source of everything that lives.

Water is the only home I’ve ever known;
Why should I care about this Sîmorgh’s throne?

The Hoopoe Answered Her :

Your life is passed
In vague, aquatic dreams which cannot last –

A sudden wave and they are swept away.
You value water’s purity, you say.
But is your life as pure as you declare?

Farîd-od-Dîn ‘Attâr (1146-1221). The Canticle of the Birds. Translated from the Persian by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis. Paris: Diane de Selliers, Éditeur, 2013.

i   Forward-Spiritual Epic  Distiches 736-737
ii  The Nightingale’s Excuse  Distiches 750-773
iii The Duck’s Excuse  Distiches 845-857