Throw the waterfowl-born cup into the water, hurry and hasten the youthful revelers.
O soul of spring and winter, O Hatim of feasts and wine, fill the reed with sugar like Abu Bakr's lute.
O cupbearer of excitement and mischief, start the revelry anew, fill the goblet with red wine and a drink.
Show from the auspicious wine, here and there, unveil the face of the veiled beloved.
Well done, what a friend, his rose branch without thorns, bravo, what a remedy for burning hearts.
Look at a hundred rings enchanted by that invisible wine, this wine makes a hundred glazed wines stale.
The hidden revelers of the garden scatter blossoms from the branch, a hundred mountains like rolling bubbles of a flood.
If that bright cup is the soul hidden from the body, intoxication and ruin cannot be concealed.
We are like crops, O soul, green in this field, thirsty and seeking the rain of clouds.
Like thunder, you are not silent, this awareness is your veil, and with patience and annihilation, endure the parrot's address.