Perhaps the locks of that playful and coquettish beloved have opened, for the morning breeze is wandering about, swaying in intoxication.

The poet uses a delightful leap of poetic imagination, suggesting that the morning breeze isn't swaying with abandon by mere accident—it must have brushed past the beloved's loosened hair. Enamored by the intoxicating fragrance of those playful tresses, the wind itself has grown drunk with joy. It turns an ordinary movement of nature into an enchanting celebration of the beloved's mesmerizing charm.