Keeps me constantly drunk the breeze of your curling tress

Ruins me every moment the deceit of your magic eye

After so much patience O Lord can one see one night

That we light sight's candle in your eyebrow's prayer niche

The blackness of vision's tablet I hold dear because

For the soul it's a copy from your Hindu mole's tablet

If you wish to eternally adorn the world entirely

Tell the morning breeze to lift for a moment the veil from your face

And if you wish to eliminate mortality's custom from the world

Shake so that fall a thousand souls from each of your hairs

Me and poor morning breeze two fruitless wanderers

I drunk from your eye's spell and it from your tress's scent

What aspiration that Hafez has from this world and the next

Nothing comes to his eye except the dust of your street