O wine-server, come, for the goblet is filled with the wine of the tulip
How long shall we fast and how long shall we be superstitious?
Forget pride and haughtiness, for time has shown
The folds of Caesar's robe and the brim of his hat
Be alert, for the bird of the meadow is drunk, behold
Wake up, for the sleep of non-existence is constantly pursuing
How delicately you pluck, O branch of new spring
May you not be disturbed by the storm of the winter wind
Do not trust in the wheel of fortune and its ways
Alas for he who feels secure from its deceit
Tomorrow, the wine of the River of Paradise and houris are for us
And today too, a wine-server with a moon-like face and a cup of wine
The west wind reminds us of the time of youth
A life-giving medicine that takes away the pains of youth
Do not see the majesty and sovereignty of the rose, for it will surrender
Every leaf of it to the dust beneath the foot
Drink a cupful in memory of Hatem Tai
So that we may pass over the black records of the miserly
From that wine which gave beauty and grace to the lilac
A pleasant disposition flowed from its face to its nature
A throne in the garden where, like servants
The cypress stands and the reed is bent
Hafez, the sweet-deceiving tale of the morning has reached you
As far as Egypt, China, and the outskirts of Rome and Ray