Last night, that beloved of ours, stumbling and rising, in a single robe

Came drunk with a cup full of pure purity

He was spilling the cup of wine on the way because he was very drunk

The dust of the path became intoxicated and kicked its feet before him

Hundreds of thousands of Josephs, like me, were astonished by his beauty

They were lamenting, "Where is the hidden manifest one?"

The soul prostrated before him, it was more than the dust of the path

Reason became mad, shouting, "Bravo!"

Those self-possessed ones tore their collars from love

Hearts light like straw and faces like amber

He laid waste a world for a single coquetry

And from the languor of his narcissus eye, another world was lost

The wise ones all bowed their heads from fear and dread

They drew lines before him without supplication and without praise

And those who are also intoxicated by his magical languor

How can they offer praise since they have fallen separate from existence?

I, the treacherous, faithless one, sought that he might be my companion

Before his cup, I saw fidelity fallen drunk

Turk and Hindu, drunk and acting badly, were doing last night

Like two bloody, heretical enemies, deserving of hell

At times, acknowledging their guilt like criminals at each other's feet

They would fall down in lamentation, sacrificing their lives and bodies

Again, taking each other's hands, that Hindu and Turk

Both would fall down on their faces before our moon-faced one

The king filled a cup and gave it openly to the Turk

And secretly, with another cup, he was saying to the Hindu, "Come"

On the Turk's head is a crown, saying, "I have given you the title of faith"

On the Hindu's face is a mark, saying, "This is infidelity, ha!"

One of them had become a pure Sufi, residing in a monastery

And this gambler had placed his belongings in a tavern

When that sedition of the souls of the houris appeared from afar

With a cup in his hand, intoxication in his head, his face like the midday sun

Fear for their souls fell in the monastery from that Christian idol

The pious Sufis, drinking wine and wearing the zunnar (a sacred thread worn by Zoroastrians)

And those residents of the tavern, even more mad than that

Were breaking the wine jars and throwing away the harps and reed flutes

Tumult and evil, and benefit and harm, and fear and security, and soul and body

The flood had carried all away, dragging them towards nothingness

At midnight, when it became like morning, the muezzins gave the call

"O lovers, rise and prepare for prayer!"