When I begin the evening prayer of the strangers, I start with weeping

With strange lamentations, I weave a tale

I weep so bitterly in remembrance of the beloved and the homeland

That I cast away the path and customs of the world

I am from the land of the beloved, not from foreign lands

O Host, guide me back to my companions

O companion of the path, may God help me

So that I may raise the banner in the alley of the tavern once more

When will reason take account of my old age?

For I still play like a child of love with a beauty

No one knows me except the morning breeze and my flute

My dear one, who is no companion but the wind

The longing for the beloved's abode is the water of our life

O morning breeze, bring a breeze from the soil of Shiraz

My tears came and spoke of my faults face to face

To whom shall I complain? My sorrow is my own

I heard from Venus's lyre, which said at dawn

I am the servant of Hafez, sweet-tongued and melodious