O nightingale! Bewail if my love thou desire.
For, we are weeping lovers; yet, tear is our task dire.
Where bloweth a perfumed breeze from the Friend’s hair,
The Tartary musk-pods lose the aroma once so rare.
Give wine so we may the robe of hypocrisy dye;
For we are intoxicated with pride; yet, sober are we, aye.
To devise a fancy for Thy tress, fools do not care
To get into the chains of love is what the bold souls dare.
‘Tis a deep charm which wakes the lover’s flame
Not ruby lip, nor verdant down its name
Beauty is not the eye, lock, cheek and mole
A thousand subtle points the heart control.
The wayfarers purchase not for half a corn,
The satin coat that void of skill is born.
Difficult it seemeth to reach the Threshold of Thy Love:
Aye, difficult as ascending to the rooftop of the heaven above
At dawn, in a dream, to the abode of the Beloved did I wend:
Oh happy the dream in which one mayest see the Darling Friend.
HAFIZ! Wound not His heart with tears, and end:
For, eternal salvation in love doth bend
(Translated by Ismail Salami)