Last night, in our gathering, the story of your tresses was told

Until the end of the night, the talk was about the chain of your hair

The heart that was in the blood of your eyelashes

Was again eager for the archery of your eyebrow

Perhaps, O Lord, the breeze would bring a message from you

Or else we would not have reached anyone from your street

The world had no news of the tumult and evil of love

The sedition of the world was the magic of your coquetry

I was also bewildered, one of the people of health

The snare of my path was the tress of your Indian hair

Open the knot of your cloak, so that my heart may open

For the opening that I had was from your side

By your faithfulness, pass by the tomb of Hafez

For he was leaving the world and was in the desire of your face