The slaves of your narcissus-like eyes are crowned

The wine of your ruby lips has intoxicated the wise

The breeze and my tears have become coquettish with you

And if not, the lovers are keepers of secrets

When you pass under the two locks of your hair, look

And see the mourners on your right and left

Pass like the breeze over the violet field and see

And see the homeless ones due to the tyranny of your tresses

Our share is paradise, O God-knower, go

For the sinners are deserving of divine favor

I am not worthy of that rose-like face, and that's enough

For your nightingale is a thousand times more

You take care, O Khidr, of the fortunate one, for I

Am walking on foot, and my companions are riding

Come to the tavern and make your face purple

Do not go to the monastery, for that is the place of the black-hearted

Hafez, may you not be free from that tress that shines like a bow

For the relatives of your snare are the saved ones