Again the violet arrived, facing the double lily, the ruby-clad flower tears its robe.
Again they arrived joyfully from that world like the wind, our green-clad ones, intoxicated and graceful.
The cypress standard-bearer went, burning the autumn fiercely, and from the mountain's peak, the sweet-faced tulip appeared.
The spike said to the jasmine, "Peace be upon you," and it replied, "Peace be upon you too, come to the garden, young one."
In every direction, a Sufi is found, clapping like a plane tree, dancing like the breeze.
The bud, like the modest ones, has hidden its face, the wind lifts its veil, saying, "O pure one, reveal yourself."
The beloved is in our alley, the water in our stream, why is the lotus decoration thirsty and yellow?
The grim winter has gone, that joy-killer is dead, may your life be long, O swift-footed jasmine.
The narcissus winked at the grass in the story, the grass understood and said, "Your command."
The carnation said to the willow, "I have hope in you," it replied, "My bachelor house is your solitude, come in."
The apple said, "O citron, why are you distressed?" It replied, "I do not show myself because of the evil eye."
The dove came with its cooing, asking, "Where is that beloved?" It was pointed to the rose by the sweet-voiced nightingale.
Besides the world's spring, there is a hidden spring, moon-faced and sweet-mouthed, give the wine, O cupbearer.
O moon rising in the dark shadows of night, the light of its lamps surpasses the midday sun.
There are a few words left, but it is late and time is short, whatever was missed at night, I will bring tomorrow.