If, o East wind, o'er the Ares' Plain to pass to thee befall,
Kiss that valley's earth and musky Look thou make thy breath withal.

Selma's stead (to whom an hundred Greetings be each breath from us)
Full thou'lt find of bells a-clamour and of camel-drivers' bawl.

Kiss for me the Loved One's litter And thus humbly to her say,
“For thy sev'rance I consumed am; Come, o dear one, to my call!”

I, who styled the warners' counsel Erst the chirp of the rebeck,
Now have proved enough of chast'ning From estrangement's heavy maul.

Pleasance and night-waking practise, Unafraid, for, in Love's land,
Hand and glove are nightly prowlers With the watchmen, one and all.

Lovership no thing of sport is: Heart, needs must thou stake thy life;
Else it with the mall of passion Booteth not to smite Love's ball.

Fain the heart its life doth render To the Loved One's drunken eye,
Though to no one else the sober Give themselves beyond recall.

In the sugarcane plantation Live the parrots at their ease,
Whilst the wretched fly for longing Smites its head against the wall.

If there come the name of Hafiz To the pen-nib of the Friend,
This is all the boon he craveth From the Sultan's presence-hall.