I am not that libertine to forsake the beloved and the cup

The censor knows that I rarely abandon such acts

I, who have often criticized the repentant

Would be mad to repent of wine in the season of flowers

Love is the precious pearl, and I the diver, with the tavern as my sea

I have submerged myself in it, who knows when I shall emerge

The tulip holds the cup, the narcissus is drunk, yet we are called sinful

I have many grievances, O Lord, whom should I make my judge?

Rein in your steed for a moment, O my city-ruining Turk

So I may adorn your path with gold and jewels of my tears

I, who possess treasures of ruby and garnet in my tears

How could I desire the grace of the high-starred sun?

When the morning breeze washed the collection of flowers with kind waters

Call me crooked-hearted if I look upon the pages of the ledger

The heavens’ oaths and covenants are not very reliable

I make my vows with the goblet and my pacts with the cup

I, who in begging hold the treasure of kingship in my hand

How could I covet the lowly favors of fortune’s wheel?

Though I am dust-stained in poverty, shame on my ambition

If I wet my skirt in the waters of the sun’s fountain

If the beloved’s grace prefers lovers to burn in fire

I am narrow-sighted if I long for the fountain of Kawthar

Last night, her ruby lips gave coquettish promises to Hafez

But I am not one to believe such tales from her