Crowned kings the bondmen of thy drowsed Narcissus-eyne are still;
The sober drunken with thy lip Of ruby's wine are still.

Pass, like the East wind, by the beds Of violets and see
How, for thy tress's tyranny, All in repine are still.

Of thee the East wind and of me The tears are talebearers;
Else lover and beloved both Secret, in fine, are still.

Not only I to that rose-cheek Sing songs; on every side
Thousands of bulbuls praisers of Those charms of thine are still.

Look, from beneath thy double tress, Whenas thou passest by,
What restless ones, to right and left, Line upon line, are still.

Our lot foredoomed is Paradise; Begone, self-righteous one!
Sinners deserving of God's grace And ruth Divine are still.

Go to the tavern; dye thy face With Redbud-coloured wine;
Not to the cloister, for those there Of heart malign are still.

O Khizr of auspicious foot, Take thou my hand; for I
A foot go and a-horseback all Yon way-mates mine are still.

Never from yonder shining tress Be Hafiz freed! For free
Those only are who bounden in Thy ringlet's twine are still.

Lo, from the writing on the face Of Hafiz may be known
That those who dwell at the Friend's door Mad, by this sign, are still.