Fragrance of the musk of Tart'ry On the East wind, lo! there cometh.
What's this breeze, from which your fragrance, Loves of long ago, there cometh?

Breaths of Tartar musk are wafted From the bosom of the zephyr:
Nay, a caravan from China, By this scent, I trow, there cometh.

Ne'er from her my heart I'll sunder, Till the soul my body quitteth:
From my utterance the fragrance Of faith-keeping, know, there cometh.

Make not, heart, the breast a target For the darts of grief for her;
Shut the eye, for by the eye 'tis That the stroke of woe there cometh.

By love-liking for thine eyebrow Still solicited am I;
'T is a king to whom remembrance Of the beggar low there cometh.

Oft, for that thy foot still sinketh In the mire my tears have made,
On mine eye-man, in thy presence, Shame himself to show there cometh.

Hafiz, spare thou not the wine-cup; For the rose into the garden
Back again, with all its hundred Petals full ablow, there cometh.