Look at the (assemblage of) favourite wives. All of them wear ornaments on their face. Every one of them feels certain that the beloved would grace her abode with a visit. But he enters the houses of those, who being cognizant of their lapses, have blushed red (and repented.)

All fortunate ones, all with faces decked,
Each one though her He would select,
He stood at the door of the one that was humble and meek.

All are his dear wives, all have lavishly adorned themselves,
Each one of them is sure that the beloved would visit her abode,
But he want to the doors of those who, knowing their flaws,
Were blushing red.