O morning breeze if your path leads to the friend's land

Bring a fragrance from the ambergris-scented tress of the friend

By their soul that in gratitude I would scatter my soul

If you bring me a message from the friend's presence

And if you have no admission to that presence

For my eyes bring some dust from the friend's door

I a beggar and desire for union with them, alas

Perhaps in dream I'll see the image of the friend's visage

My pine-shaped heart is like a trembling willow

From longing for the friend's cypress-like stature

Though the friend values us not at all

For a world we wouldn't sell a hair from the friend's head

What would it be if their heart becomes free from grief's bond

Since poor Hafez is the slave and servant of the friend