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English translation

A night sweeter than the Nowruz of youth, Pure wine like the water of life. Gol and Khosrow both fell intoxicated, Drawing their legs close, tresses in hand. The night-traveling Gol had put on black tresses, The night became like day from the radiance of Gol. That face, like day, shining in the night, Made the dark night bright as day. The earth inhaled musk from the scent of her hair, Sugar dried its lips from her sweetness. In Khuzestan, sugar was from her laughter, And the rock-candy in Isfahan was her servant. Her fresh rose had caught fire, Her lips smiling and her tresses gathered. A world of hearts fell for her robe, Wisdom placed her ring in its ear. Like a cypress, the moon-faced Golrokh bowed her head, A moon in her head, a head cast in snow. The tip of her tress was sprinkled with fresh musk, From the glow of Gol's face it became black-shining. The goblet poured twilight into Gol's throat, Gol, like a cup, became sweaty with wine. When Golrokh removed the veil from her face, The garden would weep out of shame. And if she cast her black hair over her head, She would throw the moon and sun into confusion. And if that lovely one held the cup, A general clamor would rise to the sky. Sugar begged from the ruby of Gol's lips, The violet wore the robe of that sugar. The color of that moon's face shone from wine, Shining upon the king in solitude. When that moon rose from her seat, The heart of the hermit strayed from the path. When the intoxicated Gol arose from her place, The king said, 'I fell drunk at your feet. When you rise, peace sits down; When you sit, resurrection arises. The heart of Khosrow is joined to your blood, For this reason, like blood, my heart is bound to yours. One night, give me wine with your own hand, For I am ruined by the prosperity of your beauty. I desire to reach out my hand tonight, I have a desire for pride tonight. Do not place those two tresses, like two armored Hindus, On your shoulder in a raid. Drink the rose-colored wine with me for a moment, Do not be rebellious like your tress, O silver-bodied one.' He said this, and made rose-sugar from her ruby, Binding his two hands around her waist. Out of envy for the king, a cry arose from the moon, Who was a witness to the king's love-play. The fresh Gol, playing with the Hindu of her tress, Had brought it into the hands of the raid. Casting pearls upon the leather mat and her face upon the king, Casting sugar upon the rose, silk upon the moon. She took a cup of wine from the hand of the rose-faced king, Wine like her face, rose-colored and rose-scented. She poured sugar, making a bitter coquetry, Drinking a bitter wine with sweetness. With sugar she kissed the milk of the vine, With a sip she gave a pastry to the earth. The intoxicated King Khosrow spoke, Saying to Gol, 'O you who have lost yourself in intoxication! Since you are drunk, give wine from your lips to the drunkards, Sit for a moment while the drunkards are asleep. Who will find a better time than this? Give the secret of the secret, hand over the cup for a moment. Do not make your heart unhappy with our rakishness, Be happy for a moment in our happiness. The bird of the dawn sings plaintively; Bring, O golden bird, the high-pitched lament.' When Golrokh heard the king's response, she leaped up, With wine in hand, she stood in service before the king. The cypress was humbled by her stature, The fresh narcissus was pierced by the arrow of her eyes. When the free cypress compared itself to her stature, It quickly surrendered before her height. Shaking her sleeves, she walked toward the king, Her collar held by the hem of the moon. With her musky tresses, she went before his presence, And said, 'Blessed be the festival of your pleasure.' The king and Gol remained alone together, Walking with drunken steps around the lawns. Making the nose filled with musk from the scent of wine, Drying both wet lips with kisses. From the wine, the bloodthirsty heart of Gol lost itself, Fire blazing from the cheek of Gol. When the ruby of her rose-like face caught fire from wine, By wine, her horseshoe was cast into the fire. Out of desire for the redness of the moon's cheek, The bloodthirsty eye of the king turned dark. The king reached out his hand to Gol with his heart, So that he could play a hand with Gol. Gol said to him, 'O you who have turned unjust again, My cry is against your injustice! Since there is no remaining yield for you from me, Take this wine, for there is no cupbearer like Gol. Once again you have brought reproach upon me, It seems you have no remaining account. I am drunk from your eyes, and drunk from wine as well; At last, hold back your hand from this dejected drunkard. You have a piece of Golrokh's heart from the narcissus, Since you yourself have narcissus eyes for this task. You have a line like ambergris musk, Your speech is like poison, and your lips are the antidote. Do not indulge so much in lust now, For lust passes like a torrent. Of that which does not last more than a moment, If it is a drink, it is nothing but a sting. Abandon lust in the delight of intoxication, Be distant for a moment from all that exists. Since you have become drunk, stroll with Gol for a moment, Around the green carpet of the field. You have a world of joy from the cosmos, Like Gol, be happy in the world for a moment.' The king, from Gol's words, became drunk and lost, Fell down drunk and lost control. His heart became senseless in sweet sleep, For his heart was boiling from last night's warmth. When the child of morning upon the face of time Cast out the night milk from its mouth, Like children, it opened its hands wide, Unveiling the rose-colored face. It poked its head out of the cradle of the heavens, Laughed, and filled the world with sugar. Like the peacock of the green bride of Khidr, It raised its banner atop this azure canopy. It emerged from Aries like a gold-woven umbrella, The silver-scattering year of the world came to an end. When this golden peacock entered Aries, Time was transformed into Rukni gold. All the mountains boiled with tulips, All the plains wore robes of green. You would say every grain of the plain's dust Hid under the green dust from the verdure. The water of life of Khidr came down upon the air, The treasure of Qarun surfaced for the earth. The meadow drank from the cup of Gol's hand, The morning breeze combed the head of every branch. The edge of the stream formed a shield of grass, The mountains girthed themselves with tulips. You would say the meadow held a school, Having so many children in the garden. Thousands of roses, like newly blossomed children, Held up a tablet of green leaves. When the breeze showed them off with a hundred souls, Each one placed a finger upon the tablet. The aged world, you would say, became young, The earth from its greenness became like heaven. Thousands of green-clad playthings Flew from the branches like letters. Thousands of wondrous, flirting sorcerers Began swimming upon the spring. Thousands of sharp-eyed ones adorned with kohl Were coming out from behind the curtain. Thousands of tiny, milk-drinking infants Raised their heads from the cradle. The nightingale spoke plaintively to the rose, The rose from its cradle spoke like Jesus. From the branch of the cypress, the sugar-eating parrot Raised a lament for the sugar of the beloved. The meadow from every side, like palm-planters, Showed sweet-toothed playthings. The meadow made a fan from peacock feathers, The soul of the morning breeze was like a confined soul. The meadow drank the head-froth from Gol's hand, Placing flattened rings in its ears. With its breath, the tirewoman of the morning breeze Stole the path of the newlyweds of the meadow. The swift morning breeze blew in the world, Tearing apart the green veil of the rose. Making three lips smile at once: The lip of the field, the lip of the stream, and the lip of the beloved. The soul-kindling world lit a candle, A paradise wearing robes gathered from every side. Like the hyacinth, the soil had chained hair, Like the lily, the garden had a free face. From the face of the mountain, tulips raised daggers, From the body of the cloud, hail shot arrows. The violet wore a turquoise robe, The yellow rose wore a gold-woven crown upon its head. The violet showed off like a peacock's feather, Blossoms scattering and kissing the ground. The violet's head was heavy from so much ruin, The tulip brought a reproach upon the hard rock. The violet was a child out of weakness, But the color of youth did not come from it. The violet, like those who wear woolen robes, Brought its head to its knees like the silent ones. The violet wears the robe of pretense, But the lotus is the possessor of miracles. For the lotus, like the indigo-wearing companions, Spread its prayer mat upon the water. When the water formed knots from the Nowruz wind, From the surface of the water, the lotus found armor. When the sun cast heat and glow upon it, It removed the armor and cast its shield upon the water. The pomegranate flower emerged like red blood, You would say it was pouring blood from the liver. Its entire shirt dragged in blood, Tongues pulled out from behind. Its body in the snare, a hidden camphor, Its hair turned to cotton in youth. Indeed, it was born old from the day of youth, Yet the cloud gave it milk at every moment. When the eyes of the springs became weeping again, The mouth of the jasmine opened in laughter. When it became laughing, its tongue appeared, It opened its tongue and its mouth was revealed. The tulip emerged like aloe wood and a censer, Fire on the outside, scented aloe on the inside. It blazed like a flame of fire, Its heart burnt like aloe on that fire. The intoxicated nightingale entered dancing, For the rose comes in glory with a hundred hands. When the nightingale began to lament over the rose, The rose emerged from the arrow and became a shield. As soon as it separated from the green cradle, With a single dewdrop its cap became a robe. When the delicate rose remained in the hand of the breeze, To repel it...