To whom do I say my sorrows of madness except the Beloved?
Whom should I ask the way to the tavern except the Beloved?
This is the secret of love that nobody except the friend knows!
The grief of her separation to none can be told.
It is new spring open the tavern's door,
In spring the door of the tavern can not be closed.
To the cup-bearer's memory, bring wine in this season,
It is not suitable to go to the garden so langourously.
Loosen a curve of your tress oh! Wine-selling idol,
Through your tress grant the need of this mourning heart
Today is the great day of loving the Beloved,
Give a hand, let the friend drink out of jar.
Seeing his face seeing the intoxicated were in such state,
That except to the soaker idol, I won’t utter.