Your musk-scented tresses emit the fragrance of violets
Your delightful laughter tears the curtain of the rosebud
O my sweet-smelling rose, don’t burn your nightingale
For out of sincerity, it prays for you all night long
I who grew weary of the breath of angels
Am reciting the discourse of the world for your sake
See the fortune of love, how from poverty and pride
Your beggar breaks a corner of the crown of kingship
The robe of asceticism and the cup of wine, though incompatible
I draw all these images for your sake
The intoxication of your love will take my breath away
So that this head, full of desire, may become dust in your abode
The throne of my eye is the resting place of your imagination
It is a prayer that my king, you may never be absent from your place
Your face is a beautiful meadow, especially in the spring of beauty
Hafez, the eloquent, has become the singing bird of your speech.