The garden of joy is blooming, O cupbearer, where is the rose-cheeked one?

The spring breeze is blowing, where is the pleasant wine?

Every new flower reminds of the rose-cheeked one, but

Where is the ear that listens to words, where is the eye of trust?

The gathering of joy does not need ambergris

O sweet breath of the morning, where is the musk of the beloved's hair?

O breeze, my flower is not a seller of beauty, have patience

I have struck my hand to the blood of my heart, for God's sake, where is the beloved?

If the morning candle boasts of your face

The enemy has become long-tongued, where is the sharp dagger?

She said, perhaps you have no desire for a kiss from my ruby lips

People are consumed by this desire, but where is the power and will?

Hafez, though in speech he is the treasurer of the treasure of wisdom

From the sorrow of the base world, where is the nature that speaks?