The April cloud has risen, and the spring breeze has blown

I want the face of the wine and the musician who says it has arrived

The witnesses are in the presence of the beloved, and I am ashamed of my poverty

The burden of love and poverty is difficult to bear

There is a drought of generosity, and one's honor should not be sold

Wine and flowers should be bought at the price of the cloak

It seems that he will open a door to my kingdom that yesterday

I was praying, and the truthful morning was granting

The rose came to the garden with a lip and a hundred thousand smiles

As if it had heard a scent from a generous one in a corner

If a cloak is torn in the world of rascality, what does it matter?

A garment of good reputation should also be torn

These subtleties that I said from the lip of your ruby

And this pride that I saw from the head of your tresses, I saw

If the king's justice does not ask about the state of the oppressed lovers

The secluded ones should be cut off from the hope of comfort

I do not know who shot the arrow of love at Hafez's heart

I only know that blood is dripping from the bitter poem