The violet bends under the weight of your musk-scented tresses

The bud's veil is torn by your heart-opening smile

O fragrant flower, do not burn your own nightingale

For it prays for you all night with utmost sincerity

I, who grew weary of the breath of angels

Bear the chatter and clamor of the world for your sake

Behold the wealth of love, for from the height of poverty and pride

Your beggar breaks the corner of the crown of kingship

Though the cloak of asceticism and the cup of wine are not worthy of each other

I paint all these images for the sake of your pleasure

The intoxication of your love's wine takes my breath away

For this restless head becomes dust at your doorstep

The throne of my eye is the resting place of your image

It is a place of prayer, my king, may your place never be without you

Your face is a delightful garden, especially in the spring of beauty

Hafez became eloquent, the bird of your poetic court