Lament, O nightingale, if you intend friendship with me

For we are two wailing lovers and our work is wailing

In that land where a breeze blows from the beloved's forelock

What place is there for Tatar musk pods to boast

Bring wine that we may color the garment of hypocrisy

For we're drunk from pride's cup yet bear sobriety's name

To perfect the thought of your tress is not every novice's work

For going under the chain is the way of the clever

There's a hidden subtlety from which love arises

Whose name is neither ruby lip nor verdant down

Personal beauty is not eye and tress and cheek and mole

A thousand points are in this work of heart-keeping

True wandering dervishes won't buy for half a barley

The satin robe of one who's void of skill

To your threshold it's hard to arrive, yes

Ascent to the heaven of lordship is difficult

At dawn I saw your eye's coquetry in dream

How excellent the dream's station that's better than wakefulness

Don't trouble their heart with lament and end it, Hafez

For eternal salvation is in causing little harm