My moon left this week and to my eye it's a year

What do you know of separation from you, what difficult state it is

The pupil of the eye from the grace of their face in their face

Saw its own reflection and thought it was a musky mole

Milk still drips from their sugar-like lip

Though in coquetry each eyelash is a killer

O you who are pointed at for generosity in all the city

Alas what negligence you have in strangers' affairs

After this I have no doubt in the individual essence

For your mouth in this point is a sweet proof

They gave glad tidings that you will pass by us

Don't change the good intention for it's a blessed omen

The mountain of grief of separation from you in what state will carry

Weary Hafez whose body from lament is like a reed flute