In the trap of your tress the heart is afflicted by its own self

Slay it with a glance for this is its own deserved fate

If you can fulfill the desire of our heart

Be ready for it's a good deed in its own place

By your soul, O sweet-mouthed idol, that like a candle

In dark nights my desire is my own annihilation

When you chose love I told you, O nightingale

Don't, for that smiling rose is for itself

The rose's scent needs not the musk of China and Chigil

For its musk pods are from the knot of its own robe

Don't go to the house of time's merciless lords

For your well-being's treasure is in your own house

Hafez burned and in the condition of his love-playing

He is still faithful to his own covenant and loyalty