The image of your face is our companion on every path

The breeze of your hair is the bond of our conscious soul

Despite the critics who forbid love

The beauty of your face is our valid proof

See what the apple of your chin is saying

A thousand Egyptian Josephs have fallen into our well

If our hand cannot reach your long tresses

The fault lies with our scattered fortune and short reach

Tell the doorkeeper of the private palace

That such-and-such is among the dust-dwellers at our threshold

Though veiled from our sight in form

Always present in our contented mind

If Hafez knocks at a door once a year, open it

For it's years he's been yearning for our moon-like face