Not all purity without alloy is the coat of the Sufi; O many a Khirka, that is worthy of the fire!
Our Sufi, who, with the morning reading, used to become intoxicated, At evening time, behold him; for merry of head is he.
Happy it is, if the touch-stone of experience come into use, So that black of face becometh every one, in whom is alloy.
If, in this way, the Saki’s down maketh the picture on water, O many a face that colored with blood will be!
The daintily nurtured in affluence took not the path to the Friend: The being a lover is the way of profligates, calamity enduring.
Grief for this mean world, how long sufferest thou? Drink wine: Pity it is that the sage’s heart is perturbed.
The ragged garment and the prayer-mat of Hafez, the wine-seller will take, If, from the hand of that moon-like Saki, there is wine.
