That master has been struck by an illness since midnight

Until dawn, he has been mindlessly banging his head against our wall

The heavens and the earth have wept, and are moaning from his cries

His breaths have become burning, as if he were in a fire temple

He has a strange illness, neither headache nor feverish pain

It has no cure on earth, for it has come from the heavens

When he saw Galen, he took his pulse and said

Leave my hand, look at my heart, my suffering is beyond all rules

Neither bile nor melancholy, neither colic nor dropsy

From this event, in every corner of our city, there are a hundred clamors

Neither sleep nor food for him, he is nourished by love

For this love is now both nurse and mother to the master

I said, O God, may a moment of grace seize him

He has neither shed anyone's blood nor seized anyone's wealth

The answer came from the sky, leave him in that state

For in the affliction of lovers, medicine and cure are useless

Seek no cure for this master, do not restrain him, do not advise him

For where he has fallen is neither a place of wickedness nor a place of worship

Since you have not seen love, nor heard from lovers

Be silent, do not recite spells, it is neither magic nor trickery

O Shams of Tabriz, come, O mine of light and radiance

For this spirit, with its work and grandeur, is lifeless without your radiance