Astonished at our glance-playing, those void of vision are: As I appeared so I am; the rest, they know.
The sages are the center of the compass of existence; but Love knoweth that, in this circle, they head-revolving are.
Not alone is my eye the splendor-place of His cheek: Revolving this very mirror, the sun and the moon are.
With the lip of those sweet of mouth, God established my covenant: We all slaves; and these lords are.
Poor are we; and desire for wine and for the minstrel, we have: Also! If, in pledge, the woolen khirka they take not.
The union of the sun reacheth not to the blind bat: For, in this mirror those of vision astonished are.
Boast of love; and lament of the tyranny of the beloved-O excellent the boast of falsehood! Deserving of separation, love-player-like these are.
Perchance Thy dark intoxicated eye will teach me the work If not, capable of abstinence and intoxication, not all are.
If to the pleasure-place of souls, the wind carry Thy perfume, In scattering, the jewel of their existence, reason and soul scatter.
Zahed! If Hafez practice not profligacy, what fear? Know “From that tribe that readeth the Qoran, the demon fleeth.”
If the young magians become acquainted with our ill-thought, After this, in pledge, the Sufi’s khirka they take not.
