Your sorrow needed blood to nurture, (alas!) your sacrificial enthusiasts have left. Those who were longing for their turn, (alas!) they were swept away by the time’s tide.
After being defeated by your deafening apathy, (alas!) the night of longing elapsed. At my dogged determination, all my sympathizers left.
There left no question of blissful communion, nor the renditions of sorrow, neither tales nor complaints. In your reign, all the rights of bemoaning heart subsided.
It was me who was cloaked in the robe of accusation. But proudly wearing those scars I reached the counsel of my beloved.
The passions of love and fidelity no longer exist; what would you do of gallows and chains then? Those who hailed the vice of love, (alas!) those transgressors have left.
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