That Night of Power which the recluses say is tonight

O Lord, in which star is this effect of fortune

That the unworthy hands might less reach your tresses

Every heart from a circle is in remembrance of 'O Lord, O Lord'

I am slain by your chin's well, from every side

A hundred thousand soul-necks are under the collar of your double chin

My knight whose face has the moon as mirror-bearer

The crown of the high sun is dust beneath their horse's shoe

See the reflection of sweat on their cheek that the warm-faced sun

In desire for that sweat, has fever every day it exists

I will not abandon the beloved's ruby lips and wine cup

O ascetics, excuse me for this is my creed

In that hour when they saddle the morning breeze

How can I ride with Solomon when my mount is an ant

The one who shoots arrows at my heart with a sidelong glance

Hafez's soul's strength is in their under-breath smile