Who will convey a caress from my beloved?

Where is the messenger of the morning breeze, if it is showing kindness?

I compared and the device of reason in the path of love,

Is like a dewdrop that draws a line on the sea.

Come, for my dervish's cloak, although it is pawned in taverns,

You will not see a single dirham of endowment in my name.

The talk of how and why gives a headache, O heart,

Take the cup and rest a moment from your life.

The physician who sits by the roadside does not know the pain of love,

Go and seek, O dead-hearted one, a breath of Christ.

My heart is weary of hypocrisy and the drum under the rug,

To the point that I will raise a banner at the door of the tavern.

Come, for those who know the value of time sell both worlds,

For a cup of pure wine and the company of a beloved.

The permanence of pleasure and luxury is not the way of love,

If you are our companion, drink the sting of sorrow.

I do not complain, but the cloud of the friend's mercy,

Did not give a drop to the parched field of the liver-thirsty.

Why do they not buy with a single reed of sugar that one

Who made a hundred sugar-scatterings from a reed pen?

The fitting praise of your worth, O king, is not in the hands of Hafez,

Except for a night prayer and a morning supplication.