In the quarter are those who like us to meet and long for it,
And others who showed enmity and are angry.
If I forget some things, I don't forget her saying
"Perhaps distance after parting will be close"
Nor do I forget a smooth cheek tears shedding over it
Fingertips, tinted like the fringe of damask
Nor a glass of wine like the cockerel's eye, whose sharpness I took early
With faithful friends, while bells were ringing.