If the bird of fortune is set free

The beloved will return and make a pact of union

Though the eye may not remain a place for pearls and jewels

It will shed blood and make a plan for scattering

Last night I said, 'May the ruby of her lips be my cure'

The unseen voice called out, 'Yes, it will be'

No one dares to breathe a word about our story

Unless the morning breeze lends an ear

I have again turned my gaze to the flying partridge

Perhaps it will recall and make a design and a hunt

The city is empty of lovers, for from one side

A man may emerge from himself and do something

Where is the generous one who, from his joyful gathering, a sorrowful one

May drink a sip and ward off intoxication

Either fidelity or news of union with you, or the death of the rival

Is it possible that the heavens will do one of these two or three things?

Hafez, if you do not leave her door, one day

She will pass by your head from a corner