O sun, the mirror-bearer of your beauty

The black musk is the incense-burner of your mole

I washed the courtyard of my sight, but what is the use?

For this corner is not worthy of the troop of your imagination

At the peak of coquetry and luxury, O king of beauty

O Lord, may your decline never come until the Day of Judgment

More pleasant than your image, no form was ever created again

The calligrapher of your dark eyebrow is your example

In the curl of her hair, O poor heart, how are you?

For the morning breeze has told your story in confusion

The scent of the rose arose, come in through the door of peace

O our spring, your auspicious face is your fortune

Until the sky becomes an earring for our ears

Where is a coquetry from your eyebrow like a crescent moon?

Until I go before fortune, congratulating

Where is the good news of the arrival of your union's festival?

This black dot that came is the orbit of light

It is a reflection in the garden of insight from your mole

Before the king, which cruelty shall I present?

The tale of my neediness or your displeasure?

Hafez, in this snare, there are many rebellious heads

Do not harbor a crooked desire, for there is no opportunity for you