English
Number 14
Your ruby lips are my cupbearer, my cup of wine; those two intoxicating eyes keep me forever undone.
When the murmur of my beloved's voice is in my ears, what need have I for the sound of harp, lute, or fiddle?
Under a lucky star my gaze fell on the beloved's face; the moment my eyes opened, my fortune woke from sleep.
In the state I'm in, drunk on the eternal cupbearer, it's a wonder I can still tell real wine from a mirage.
Someone who knows nothing of pleasure or of pain has no sense of paradise, and none of torment either.
Since beside your being I am nothing at all, do not turn your face away, do not fall into anger.
If you don't speak to me, that is no surprise; the sun never bothers to address a shadow.
Don't ask Maghrebi for etiquette on the path of love, for no one ever sought manners from the drunk and the lovers.