Pour us an overflowing goblet, O cupbearer,
the moment is precious.
In the grip of time and space,
the moment is precious.
The revolving of the heavens
gave no one a chance.
Release the toil and burden of the world;
the moment is precious.
Fill the cup with wine —
the lover is not concerned
with the workings of time;
the moment is precious.
In the audience hall of love,
reason is silent.
Leave all words and speech behind;
the moment is precious.
This day is for revelry, drunkenness
and loving.
Forget tomorrow and look not for its signs;
the moment is precious.
The rendan in our banquet
have no care for tomorrow,
knowing that both inwardly and outwardly,
the moment is precious.
Each moment spent with wine
and the Beloved —
listen to Nurbakhsh,
that moment is precious.