The nightingale is in lamentation, and the rose is striking a joyful laugh,

How can the heart not burn when the beloved sets fire within it?

Ascetic, what is the use of guarding against the arrow of his eyelashes?

My hidden wound strikes at his arching eyebrow.

I have seen unpleasantness from the wool-clad ascetic,

I am the slave of the musician who plays pleasant silk (strings).

The censor, breaking the cup of the libertines, day and night,

Strikes the red wine from the decorated flask.

Hafez the lover, despite the world-worshipping ascetic,

Strikes the sweet wine on the face of the moon-faced beloved.