Since the cheek of our Friend the new-sprung down Hath compassed about with its rounded line,
The moon of the skies her face mistakes For another moon on the earth ashine.

For wish of her lip, the which, God wot, Is goodlier far than the water of life,
A fountain of tears, like the Tigris stream, Is welling still from my weeping eyne.

Anon, for desire of her, I give My heart and spirit, as dust they were;
Whiles, duck-like, the fire of the love of her I quench with water of tears and wine.

An if for a bounden slave of hers My sovran lady will me accept,
The writ to her thrall that bindeth me With benediction I'll seal and sign.

Hafiz, the water of life itself Is all confounded before thy verse;
For no one ever, for love of her, Hath made such ditties as these of thine.