1. Stop, guide of the journey, I swear by God,
I will bid you farewell,

2. To the one whose sands have settled,
With beauty and belt,

3. A hill in which generosity and kindness flowed,
As clouds poured down,

4. Equal to every rising glow,
And cooing of doves.

5. How much treasure it harbored,
Not of India, nor Labaynor beauty.

6. They carried me over what is stronger than property,
Martyrs for you,

7. O gentle cheek.
For you, I killed a thousand killings,

8. From before the doves.
If people knew, O friend,

9. What lies in this unique one,
They would sacrifice their souls for him,

10. And become his servants.
Draw him near at dawn breaks,

11. His newness renews,
But they are struck with neglect,

12. Rousing sleepers.
As for me, I will rip open the curtain,

13. And gather the care that scattered,
Be it said I slipped or erred,

14. I care not for the words of the commons.
For nothing cured an ailment,

15. In it except passion.