I am in love with the face of a lovely young bloom

And from God, I have asked the favor of this sorrow in prayer

I am a lover, a rogue, and a gazer, and I say it openly

So you know that I am adorned with many such arts

I am ashamed of my stained robe

Which I have adorned with a hundred patches of trickery

Burn happily from his sorrow, O candle, for I too

Have girded myself for this task and risen

With such bewilderment, I lost the gain of the work

I have added to sorrow whatever I have taken from heart and soul

Like Hafez, I will go to the tavern in my cloak

In the hope that my newly-bloomed beloved will embrace me