If her hand draws her sword against me, I will not resist
And if she shoots her arrow, I will be grateful.
Tell your eyebrow's bow to fire an arrow
So that I may die before your hand and arm.
If the world's sorrow brings me to my knees
What else but the goblet will be my support?
Arise, O sun of the morning of hope
For I am captive in the hands of the night of separation.
Come to my aid, O old man of the tavern
With a single draught, make me young again, for I am old.
I swore by your tresses yesterday
That I will never turn away from your feet.
Burn this robe of piety, O Hafez
For even if I become fire, I will not be consumed in it.