May the sky pour a draught of wine for you, O just ruler

May your dark-hearted enemy be drowned in blood like a tulip

The peak of your palace is high due to its great height

May the path of imagination be a thousand years old for your courtiers

O moon of the tower of your abode, the eye and lamp of the world

May your pure wine be forever in the cup and goblet

When the poet becomes inspired by your praise

May your envious one be deprived of hearing it, with sighs and lamentations

Not just the heavens and the moon and sun that exist

May the easiest melody be on the lips of your destiny

The virgin daughter of my thought has become the confidante of your praise

May the sun of such a bride be entrusted to the pocket of the wind