He had gone to the Magian tavern and washed his hands

The elder sat, summoning both the old and the young

The wine-bearers had all girded themselves in service

While the Turk’s crown cast its shadow upon the clouds

The radiance of the cup veiled the moon’s light

And the cheeks of the cup-bearers blocked the sun’s path

The bride of fortune in that chamber with a thousand graces

Broke her brow’s arch and sprinkled rosewater on petals

The angel of mercy held the goblet of joy

From its drops, rosewater was cast on the faces of houris and fairies

From the uproar and cries of the charming beloveds

Sugar was shattered, jasmine scattered, and the lute strummed

I greeted him, and with a smiling face, he said to me

O you intoxicated beggar, ruined by wine!

Who does what you have done, with such weakness of will and judgment?

Leaving the treasure house to pitch your tent on ruins

I fear the union with the awakened fortune will not be granted to you

For you lie asleep in the embrace of slumbering fate

Come to the tavern, Hafiz, so I may present to you

A thousand rows of prayers that have been granted

The heavens are the steed-bearer of Shah Nasruddin

Come and see his realm with hands upon the stirrup

Wisdom, inspired by the unseen, for the pursuit of honor

Has kissed his threshold a hundred times from the celestial roof