O who will be the noble man
to treat me well and loyally
And just this once do a good turn
for such a no-good wretch as me,
Will first, as flute and reedpipe play,
his message to my heart convey
And with a single winecup pay
me a true act of courtesy?
That heartswipe who wears down my soul
retains my heart in his control.
I can't lose hope. Might he console
my heart and treat it lovingly?
Said I: the day has yet to pass
when I let your hair loose at last.
Said he to me: it's playing fast
and loose with you by my decree.
The straight and narrow Sufi's mind,
when love stands in plain sight, is blind.
Tell of being wasted. Help him find
cause to forsake sobriety.
Love grand as this proved hard to win,
poor beggar that I've always been.
What Sultan takes a street-lout in
to play and pleasure secretly?
From that sweet, curling crown of hair
no tyranny is hard to bear.
What shame in bonds and chains is there
for one who's lived by knavery?
Grief's countless legions stand arrayed.
From Fortune I importune aid.
May gracious Fakhr-al-Dīn be swayed
to ease my grief with sympathy.
Stay back, Hafez. Don't even try
engaging that spellbinding eye.
Those curling locks, like dark night's sky
are roiling with much trickery.