The killing of this weary one by your sword was not fate

And if not, there was no fault from your merciless heart

I, a madman, when I would leave your tresses

I was not more worthy of the ring of the chain

O Lord, what essence does this mirror of beauty have

That in it, my sighs have no effect

I raised my head from regret to the doors of the taverns

For there was not a single old man in the monastery who knew you

More delicate than your stature, no coquetry grew in the meadow

More beautiful than your image, there was no picture in the world

Perhaps, like the breeze, I will return to your street

My gain last night was nothing but the cry of the night

I drew from you, O fire of separation, like a candle

There was no plan for my destruction from your hand

It was a sign of the punishment of Hafez without you

That no one needed to interpret it