An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 105
If the Sufi drinks his wine in measure — health be his;
and if not, let the very thought of it slip his mind.
He who can pour away one draught of wine from his own hand,
let his hand rest in the embrace of the Beauty he desires.
Our Elder said: 'No error ever crossed the Maker's pen';
all praise upon his pure gaze that veils another's fault.
The king of the Turks lends his ear to the slanderers' tale;
let shame come over him for the wronged blood of Siyavush.
Though out of pride she spoke no word with me, the dervish,
let my soul be ransom for her sweet, mute pistachio mouth.
My eye holds up the mirror to her down and her mole;
my lip would be among the kiss-thieves at her breast and shoulder.
Her drunken, coaxing narcissus, so gracious to men —
if it drink the lover's blood from the cup, health be its own.
By your servitude, Hafez grew famed through all the world;
let the ring of the bondage of your tress hang in his ear.