My tall, coquettish, playful beloved
Has shortened the long story of my asceticism
My heart, see what the sight of my love-struck eye
has done to my old age, asceticism, and knowledge
I fear the ruin of my faith, for it takes
The place of my prayers in your arched eyebrows
I said, “I will wear a patched cloak as a sign of love”
But my tears were a tale-bearer and revealed my secret
My beloved is drunk and doesn’t remember companions
May God bless my humble wine-server
Oh Lord, when will that gentle breeze blow, whose scent
Will make my worm of desire fruitful?
I am drawing a picture on water with my tears now
How long will my illusion be joined with reality?
Like a laughing candle, I weep over myself
So that you, hard-hearted one, may feel my pain and melody
When the ascetic gets nothing from your prayers
It is my nightly intoxication and secret communion
O Zephyr, tell of Hafiz’s burning from weeping
To my beloved king, who is kind to friends and harsh to enemies