To the Magian temple came my beloved, cup in hand

Drunk from wine, and the wine-drinkers drunk from their intoxicated narcissus eyes

In the horseshoe of their steed appears the shape of the new moon

And from their tall stature, the cypress tree seems low

How can I say I am, when I have no news of myself

And why should I say is not, when my gaze is with them as it is

The candle of my harmonious heart sat when they rose

And cries rose from the gazers when they sat

If the civet became fragrant, it was from twisting in their tresses

And if the kohl became bow-drawing, it joined their eyebrow

Return, that it may return, O Hafez's departed life

Though an arrow that has left the bow never returns