Sáki! dye the cup's rim deeper with the crimson of the wine;
Minstrel! sing of Love, and tell us things desirable, divine!

In the gold I saw reflected plain my Well-Belovèd's face!
Ye, that are not ever drunken! Senseless! Void of joy and grace!

Those your pale ones, those your prim ones, poor of stature, give delight
Only till my Cypress showeth, till my Moon swims into sight.

Never dies the heart enkindled from this flame of Love divine:
On the tablets of the Ages writ eternally is mine.

In the day of the Uprising not more profit will be got
From permitted bread of Shaikh, than our unlawful drink, I wot.

Breeze! if by that bed of rose-leaves, where the Well-Belovèd lies,
Thou dost sigh, take heed to whisper these my passion-laden cries.

Why let slip a living lover's name from memory, passing by,
Since too quickly falls forgetting when the day comes that we die.

To the Heart-Entangler's seeing this my drunkenness shows well,
Freely therefore wine they gave me -- those high Lords of Heaven and Hell.

Quaffing Hadji Kivâm's wine-cup, there I saw, by grace of him,
In the green sea of the Night the new Moon, like a shallop, swim.

Ah, my heart is like a tulip, closing up in time of cold;
When, at length, shy Bird of Fortune! shall my snare thy winds enfold?

Bird of Fortune! Bird of Favour! Spread the net, oh, Hafiz! spread!
It may chance her wandering pinions to the lure shall yet be led.