My eyes are bloodshot from the hand of that bow-like brow
The world will see much turmoil from that eye and that brow
I am a slave to the eye of that Turk, who in sweet sleep
Has a garden of gold for a face and a dark canopy for a brow
I have become crescent-shaped from this sorrow, with the flourish of her brow
Who is the moon that would appear from the arch of that brow's sky?
Our rivals are oblivious, and from that eye and forehead, we constantly
Receive thousands of messages, with a guard between the brows
For the solitary soul, her forehead is a wondrous flower garden
That revolves coquettishly over the side of her saffron-colored garden
No longer tell anyone of houris and peris with such beauty
For this one has such an eye and that one such a brow
You heartless one, you do not veil your locks, and I fear
That the bend of that beloved's brow will turn my prayer niche
Although Hafiz was a clever bird in devotion
The eye of that bow-like brow captured him with the arrow of a glance.