Eye there is not from thy face's Radiance full of light that is not;
To thy threshold's dust beholden, Yea, there is no sight that is not.

Lookers on thy face all mortals Are that are possessed of vision;
There's no head fulfilled with longing For thy browlocks bright that is not.

If, of sorrow for thee, crimson Forth my tears come, 'tis no wonder:
There's no talebearer confounded At his own unright that is not.

Nay, mine eyes, that are beholden To thy threshold's dust for tutty,
There's no doorway-dust beholden To them day and night that is not.

So no grain of dust may settle From the breeze upon thy raiment,
There's no passage-way a torrent With my tears at height that is not!

To the tenderlings forbidden Is Love's travel; yea, forbidden;
In that way's least step no peril Is to left and right that is not.

So of thy locks' scent they prate not Every where, there's not a morning
There, betwixt me and the breezes, Wrangling and despite that is not.

'Tis not meet that secrets issue Forth the veil; although there's nothing
In th' assembly of the topers Proved and known outright that is not.

Of my luckless star I plain me, Since, myself excepted, sharer
In the blessings from thy quarter Flowing there's no wight that is not.

Of its shame before the sweetness Of thy lip, o fount of honey,
There's no sugar into syrup Melted at thy sight that is not.

Not I only, heart-bereft one, For thy sake am bloody-livered;
There's no heart, for thy sweet sorrow, Marry, in like plight that is not.

Nay, the lion, in the desert Of thy love, a fox becometh;
Out upon this way, where peril Is there nor affright that is not!

This much trace of my existence Still is mine, that it existeth;
Else therein no sign of sickness Is nor lack of might that is not.

Save this only point that Hafiz Still with thee is discontented,
In thy person, there's no merit, Ay, and no delight, that is not.