Last night, in our circle of friends, the story was of your curls;
Into the heart of night, our talk was of how your hair unfurls.
The heart ran with blood from your eyelashes’ arrows,
Yet was longing for still more from the eyebrows’ bows.
May god forgive the breeze that delivered your presence;
Had it not- all that were left would be but senescence.
The world has no idea of love’s terror and tumult:
The sorcery of your glance is nought but bitter rout.
I, the astonished one, was among the safe and secure;
But you hairs’ twisted curls caught me with a scented lure.
Loosen my shirt until my heart is fully revealed;
my purity wholly derives from lying by your side.
Remember your promise, when you pass by Hafez’s corpse,
Who, as he left this world, was still desiring your lips.
