We didn’t taste a drop from her ruby lip and she left.
We didn’t gaze long enough at her beauty and she left.
Perhaps she had tired of our company.
She packed her things, we couldn’t overtake her, and she left.
We recited holy suras and blew prayers after her
and she left.
Her sultry glance rooted us in the alley of devotion.
In the end, you saw how deeply we bought that glance, and she left.
She strolled in the field of grace and beauty but
we didn’t go to meet her in the garden of union and she left.
We wailed and wept all night, just like Háfiz,
for alas, we were too late to say goodbye and she left.