The spring breeze carried my longing to the desert

The breeze brought your scent and took away my peace

Wherever there was a heart, your eyes took it from its path

But my weary, sick heart, you took alone

He came and took away the water of my face, my tears like silver

Someone came and gave gold for gold, and took this treasure

My tears brought your heavy heart to the path

The flood can carry a stone to the edge of the sea

Last night, the chain of your longing bound my hand of joy

The army of sorrow uprooted the foot of my caravan of reason

The coquetry of that bow-browed Turk marked our path

The Indian of that tall cypress carried our belongings

The wine cup before your lips spoke of soul-reviving

The water of that life-giving lip increased the soul

Do not argue with Hafez about the nightingale's sweet speech

Before the parrot, one cannot mention the name of a thousand melodies