I sometimes pass by your abode knave-like,
Hoping to glance at you out of my eyes corner.
If the piety rosary and hypocrisy rug-prayer,
Are not worthy, I shall give my wealth for the wine
From now on I won’t attend the school,
Unless in search for a coquettish idol.
Through the mosque’s area I won’t pass unless,
I make my way to the wine-seller’s abode.