Like the wind, resolution of the head of the Beloved’s street, I will make: By His pleasant perfume, my own breath, musk-raining, I will make.
In folly, without wine and the Beloved, my life passeth: Idleness, mine. After to-day, work I will make.
Every water of His face that, by knowledge and faith, I collected, The scattering of the dust of the path of that idol, I will make.
Like the candle of the morning through love for the Beloved, it became evident to me, That, in desire of this matter, my life, I shall make.
In memory of Thy eye, myself ruined I will make: The foundation of the ancient covenant, strong I will make.
Where is the breeze? For this life, blood gathered, like the rose, A sacrifice for the perfume of the Beloved’s tress, I will make.
Hafez! hypocrisy and dissimulation give not purity of heart: Choice of the path of profligacy and of love, I will make.
