O tale of paradise, from your abode there is a story
A description of the beauty of houris, from your face there is a narrative
The breaths of Jesus are a delicate jest from your ruby lips
The water of Khidr is a hint from the drink of your lips
Every piece of my heart and of sorrow is a story
Every line of your attributes and of mercy is a verse
When did you become the perfumer of spiritual gatherings?
If it were not for your fragrance, you would not have given any regard to the flower
In longing for the dust of your threshold, we burned
Remember, O gentle breeze, that you did not offer any support
O heart, in vain your knowledge and life have been wasted
You had a hundred resources and did not suffice
The scent of my burning heart has filled the universe
This inner fire will also cause a conflagration
If the imagination of your face gives up in the fire
O wine-server, come, for there is no complaint from hell
Do you know what Hafez desires from this pain and sorrow?
A coquettish glance from you and a favor from Khusrow