If that Shirazi Turk would take my heart in hand

For her Hindu mole, I would give Samarkand and Bukhara

Pour me wine, O Saki, for in Paradise you shall not find

The banks of Ruknabad and the rose gardens of Musalla

Alas! These impudent sweet-working city-disturbing beauties

Have plundered patience from my heart as Turks plunder the royal feast

Of our imperfect love, the beauty of the beloved is independent

What need has a beautiful face for color, mole, and line?

From that ever-increasing beauty that Joseph had, I knew

That love would draw Zuleika from behind the veil of chastity

Whether you choose to curse or I choose to pray

Bitter words befit those sweet ruby lips

Listen to advice, my dear, for the fortunate youth

Value more than life the counsel of the wise elder

Speak of music and wine, and seek less the secrets of time

For none has solved nor will solve through wisdom this enigma

You've composed ghazals and strung pearls, come and sing sweetly, Hafez

That heaven may scatter the Pleiades' cluster upon your poetry