1. O people of Gulg, your singing holds no melody
Like a willow whose branches sway in the nightingale's image

2. I asked her who sang praises of my idol and rival
“Who?” she said, feverish, “Empty your mind, my boy”

3. Describing my shoulders, my touch, “Look closely, resemble the one
Whose waist I cradle” I told her “My wish, let go”

4. “You speak true,” she said “For I have hidden in my neck
On the day we parted, the tears of a dear, glistening sky”