Like her hair, in my affairs there is a knot
Like my eyes, her grace will open my lot.
My redness is not from joy of the wine
Like a cup, my cheeks my bleeding heart blot.
The musicians, all play and sing in tune
If my song is out of tune, I lose my spot.
I am the night watchman of heart every night
Other than of the Beloved, I think not.
I am the magical poet whose magic words
From the reed draw sugar and fill a pot.
Her vision puts the eyes of Fate to sleep
O breeze, gracefully save me from dreamy rot.
I cannot find my friend upon the path that I trot
Whom can I speak a word to, and say what?
They used to say, Hafiz is false and fake, but
Her doorway is my only spot and plot.