من مست و تو دیوانه

I am drunk and you are mad — who will take us home? A hundred times I told you: drink two or three cups less

In this whole city I see not one sober soul Each worse than the next — frenzied, mad

Beloved, come to the tavern and taste the pleasure of the soul What joy can the soul have without the beloved's company?

In every corner a drunkard, hand upon hand And the cupbearer of all being, with his royal chalice