If I rise from my hand, I will sit with my beloved

I will drink from the cup of union and pick flowers from the garden of joy

The bitter wine of the Sufi will take away my foundation

Place your lips on mine, O cupbearer, and take away my sweet soul

Perhaps I will go mad in this passion, from night till day

I speak to the moon and see a fairy in my dreams

Your lips gave sugar to the intoxicated, and your eyes gave wine to the drinkers

I am the one who, due to extreme deprivation, am neither with them nor with these

Like every dust that the wind brings, it receives a blessing from your grace

Remember the state of your servant, for I am an old servant

Not everyone who composes a verse will have their words be pleasing

I take the partridge as my prey, for my falcon is swift

If you do not believe, go and ask the painter of China

For Mani desires a copy from the tip of my inky pen

Loyalty and truth-telling are not the work of just anyone

I am the servant of Asaf the Second, the glory of truth and religion

Listen to the secrets of intoxication and roguery from me, not from the preacher

For with the cup and goblet, I am the companion of the moon and Pleiades