Our head of devotion and the threshold of the friend's presence

For whatever befalls our head is their will

I saw no equal to the friend though from moon and sun

I placed mirrors before the friend's face

What can the morning breeze explain of our constricted heart's state

That like the bud's folded pages is layer upon layer

Not only I am the wine-bearer of this rend-burning monastery

Many a head in this workshop is stone and jug

Perhaps you combed the ambergris-scattering tress

That the wind became civet-grinding and the earth ambergris-scented

Scattered for your face is every rose petal in the meadow

Sacrificed for your stature is every cypress tree by the stream

The speaking tongue in describing passion is lamenting

What place is it for the tongue-cut pen to speak idly

Your face came to my heart, I will find my desire

Because good fortune follows a good omen

Not just now is Hafez's heart in passion's fire

For it's branded from eternity like the wild tulip