O you whose face, out of shame, has blossomed like a rose

You hold a cup of wine before the truth's perspiration

Is the dew upon the tulip or the rose flower?

Is it upon the fire's water or upon your own face?

It was from the eye of that arched eyebrow and heart

It would go after it and lose its way

Tonight I will not hold your lock of hair

The muezzin will call, tell him 'alive!'

When the children of Amir become mad

If one night Laila steps out of her home

Not even a moment did the musician place his lips on his lips

He set the harp under his nails, prepared to play

He did not place the harp on the musician's hand for a moment

Say, scratch his vein and play it from his pursuit

Place the oud on the fire and let the brazier burn

Do not worry about the harsh cold of winter

He who gives his life for a sip

Take his clothes and give him a cup

If fate humbles you from now on

Say again in the presence of the one who holds wealth

The king of the world, the one from whose speech

The letter of Hatem became sealed by his name

Bring the wine before you, but do not drink it like Hafez

Grief: who was Jam, or who was Ka'vus?