Behold me that an amber-like face I have,
A heart towards the face of the charming Beloved I have.
From the love cup I tasted the purity and verity wine,
To the tavern's jar, I am truly faithful.
Your love being which made me run out of wisdom and asceticism,
What way to school or to the moseque of hypocracy I have?
Be the slave of the cup of wine favoured by the cup-bearer,
That whatever it might be, drawn from that pleasant face.
Oh! the breeze of love tell the charming Beloved,
Arise from your place that incurable pain I have.
That mysteries are there within this jar, and the cup bearer and this heart- ravisher,
To the Beloved's soul swear that from the highly court I have.
Don't talk about the Solomon throne and the cup of Jam,
That the Khosrow and Key's crown, I the beggar have.