Do not narrate the tale of my sorrow in His glittering assemblage.
Beware, lest the smoldering heart of the lute burst into flame at my sorry tale.
When Beauty bestowed a glance, Love bowed its head in worship.
Some secret was communicated thus, in this ritual of unveiling and adoration.
Your intoxicating eyes possessed a strange mesmerizing enchantment.
From the day you glanced at me, my heart was never in my prayers.
Whatever others may say, I live by the edict.
All such prayers are pointless in which You are not the object of worship.
Burying me in my grave, my friends and acquaintances returned to their homes.
Meanwhile, He tarried and kept asking "how long is it till the funeral?".
Would that i was lucky enough to sit a moment in the tavern and drink.
No sooner had i entered His glittering assemblage, that i was thrown out into the cold.