Into the curve of that doubled tress, the hand one cannot put: Reliance on Thy covenant and the morning breeze, one cannot make.
Whatever is effort, I do in search of Thee: This is the extent that alteration of Fate, one cannot make.
With a hundred of the heart’s blood the Beloved’s skirt fell to my hand: For the great reproach that the enemy maketh, release one cannot make.
One cannot call His cheek-for instance the moon of the sky: Likening of the Beloved to every headless and footless one-one cannot make.
That moment when my lofty cypress cometh into Sama, What place is it where the soul’s garment, rent one cannot make?
Only one of pure vision can behold the Beloved’s face: For save with purity in the mirror, glance one cannot make.
The difficulty of love is not in the capacity of our knowledge: With this thought, the loosening of this subtlety, mistake one cannot make.
Jealousy became mine that Thou art the Beloved of the world. But Day and night, conflict with the creatures of God, one cannot make.
What shall I say? For delicacy of gentle disposition, Thine Is to such a degree that, slowly, a prayer one cannot make.
Save Thy eye-brow, naught is the prayer-arch of Hafez’s heart: In our religious order, save to Thee, devotion one cannot make.
