I saw my beloved circling the house, playing a lute and singing a song.
With fiery strokes, she played a delightful tune, intoxicated and charming from the wine of the Magi.
In the Iraqi mode, she played in the name of the cupbearer, her aim was the wine, and the cupbearer was just an excuse.
The moon-faced cupbearer, with a jug in hand, emerged from a corner and placed it in the middle.
She filled the first cup with that torch-like wine—have you ever seen fire blaze in water?
She placed it on her palm for her beloved, then bowed and kissed the threshold.
My beloved took it from her and drank that wine, flames from the wine ran across her face.
She saw her own beauty and said to the evil eye, "Neither was there nor will there be anyone like me in this era."