o friends, the time of the rose is for our delight.
this is the word of those with heart: listen to love!
no one is generous, and the time for joy is now.
our remedy is to sell the prayer rug for wine!
a delicate breeze stirs, bringing joy- o god, send
the slender one, to whose face we drink crimson wine!
venus, the sky’s musician, robs people of their virtue-
why should this tale not make us twist and shout!
the rose boils over into bloom without a drop of wine-
we cook continuously with fire of desire and despair!
we sip from a tulip-cup of fanciful sherbet.
o god, we are so stupid without wine and minstrel!
hafez, with whom can you share this state of wonder?
we are songbirds, but silent in the time of the rose.