The lips of the one I love are my perpetual pleasure:

The Lord be praised, for my heart’s desire is attained.

O Fate,  cherish my darling close to your breast:

Present now the golden wine-cup, now the rubies of those lips.

They talk scandal about us, and  say we are drunk—

The old silly old men, the elders lost in their error.

But we have done penance on the pious man’s behalf,

And ask God’s pardon for what the religious do.

O my dear, how can I speak of being apart from you?

The eyes know a hundred tears, and the soul has a hundred sighs.

I’d not have even an infidel suffer the torment your beauty has caused

To the cypress which envies your body, and the moon that’s outshone by your face.

Desire for you lips has stolen from Hafiz’ thought

His evening lectionary, and reciting the Book at dawn.

—-Hafiz; Translated from Persian by Peter Avery and John Heath-Stubbs