If you walk like a cypress for a moment in a garden

Every flower will become a thorn out of envy for your face

From the infidelity of your locks, every ring is a tumult

From the magic of your eyes, every corner is a sickness

Do not go to sleep like my fortune, O intoxicated eye of the beloved

For from every side, the sigh of wakefulness follows

Though my soul is the coin scattered on the dust of your path

For the flowing soul has no value before you

O heart, do not always boast of the locks of the beloved

When you become dark-minded, when will any task open for you?

My head went, and for a time, this task did not go to my head

My heart was troubled, and you had no sorrow for my distress

Like a point, I said to him, 'Come into the middle of the circle'

He laughed and said, 'O Hafez, what kind of compass is this?'