| My heart is run wild and I, also, Poor wretch, am witless sheer |
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| God in the rose-time keep me From e'er renouncing wine! |
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| If the enemies' reproaches In my self I meditate |
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| Yon friend, by whom our dwelling A fay's abiding-place was |
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| If union with thee vouchsafed To me of the sky shall be |
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| Hail to Shiraz and its station past compare! |
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| In quest of the garden of roses At dawn-tide in hope I went |
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| Though fraught is the breeze with the scent of the rose And the season of joyance here is |
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| In my bosom's pleasance-chamber Hid an idol fair I hold |
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| Rail not at the topers, zealots Clean-created, rind and core |
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