What should I say how much Longing for dejection I have

The elegance of my market is only up to the ardent desire for losing

I am the sot who himself becomes garden by the Wine’s Light

Rose’s love is only up to the departure of the unkind cup bearer

Hunter’s enhancement of garden’s beauty is till start of my melodies

As for the thunderbolts’ restlessness, it is up to my nest

I am that handful of dust, which is changed to wilderness by distress’ grace

Do not ask me of my span, it is from the earth to the sky

I am the bell, complaint is asleep in my whole nature

The silence of mine only is up to the caravan’s departure

With a tranquil heart create means of attaining your aims

Because the whirlpool’s knot is only up to the water’s flow

Silence is death in the garden of Love, O nightingale

This life is only up to observance of the wailing’s custom

In youth, there is Sight’s zeal as well as Longing’s pleasure

The happiness of our house is only up to the guest’s presence

Disgraced though I am in the whole world but, O ignorance

I understand that my Love is known only to my confidante