Your lip I am kissing: its wine I am drinking,
To the water of life I find that I am reaching.
Your secret mystery I cannot tell to any other,
Nor can I bear that with you there be another.
The cup keeps kissing your lip and blood it is drinking,
The rose keeps seeing your face and profusely sweating.
Bring the wine cup and to Jamshid no attention pay,
Who knows when Jamshid was; or when was Kay?
O moon maestro, to play on this harp reach out,
Touch the veins so that with them, I may sing out.
Hafiz, for a while, still, tell your tongue to stay,
Hear from the Ney what the tongue-less have to say.
Hafiz Shirazi (trans Zahuri)