Last night, to the rose, the violet spake; and a sweet trace gave, Saying: “In the world, me, torment a certain one’s tress gave.”
The store of mysteries, was my heart; and, the hand of Fate Closed its door; and its key to that heart-ravisher - gave.
To Thy court, like one shattered, I came. For, the physician, Me, a trace to the electuary of Thy grace gave.
Sound be his body; glad be his heart; happy, his mind! That, the hand of justice and help to the feeble one, he gave.
O counsel utterer! go, devise thy own remedy: Loss to whom, wine and the sweet mistress gave.
Me miserable, He passed and told to my opponents: “What a pity! my Hafez how miserable life he gave.”
