What a blessed time when the beloved returns

To fulfill the wishes of the sorrowful, the comforter returns

Before the army of his imagination, I displayed my piebald eyes

In the hope that that noble horseman would return

If my head does not roll in the curve of his polo stick

I will not speak of the head, and what use is my head then

I have sat on his path like dust

With the hope that he will pass by this way

A heart that made a pact with his two curls

Do not think that heart will find peace

What torments the nightingales suffered from the winter

In the hope that another spring would return

Hafez hopes from the designer of fate

That like a cypress, the beloved returns to my hand