I fear my tears may tear the veil of my love for you,
And this sealed secret become a legend in the whole world.
They say a stone turns into a ruby with patience.
Yes, it does, but not without the blood of the heart.
I will go to the tavern, weeping, and calling for justice.
Perhaps there I can release myself from the hand of grief.
I have cast the arrows of prayer in every direction,
It may be that one of them, at least, will do its work.
O soul, utter my story to my beloved,
But not in such a way as the zephyr may hear it.
I am awfully surprised at my opponent’s arrogance.
O Lord, do not allow a beggar to become important.
By your love‘s elixir, my face became [the color of] gold.
Yes, by the auspices of your grace, dust turns into gold.
Much merit in addition to beauty is necessary,
So that a person become accepted by men of perception.
With this refractoriness your tall cypress has in the head,
How can my short arm be placed around your waist?
Hafes, when the musk-bag of his tress is in your hand,
Be silent, or else the zephyr will tear the veil.