In all the Magi's temple, there is no one as mad as I

Here is the robe pawned for wine, and the book somewhere else

The heart that is the king's mirror has some dust

I seek from God the company of a clear-minded person

I have repented at the hands of the wine-selling idol

That I will no longer drink without the face of the gathering beautifier

If the narcissus boasts of your eye's style, do not be upset

Those with insight do not follow blindness

Perhaps the candle will explain this story by tongue

Otherwise, the moth does not care for speech

I have tied streams from my eyes to my hem, hoping

That they will sit the tall beauty by my side

Bring the wine ship, for without the friend's face

Each corner of my eye has become an ocean of heart's sorrow

Do not speak of anything else to me, the beloved-worshiper

For I care not for anyone but him and my wine cup

How pleasant was this saying that he spoke at dawn

At the door of a tavern, with a drum and a flute, like a monk

If this is the Islam that Hafez holds

Alas, if there is a tomorrow after today