An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 109
Long has it been that my beloved sent no message,
wrote me no greeting, and sent no word at all.
A hundred letters I sent; that king of riders
spurred no courier, and sent no greeting back.
To me, of skittish nature and startled wits,
she sent no gazelle-eyed, partridge-stepping word.
She knew the bird of my heart would slip my hold,
yet from that chain-like down she loosed no snare.
Alas — that sugar-lipped, wine-drunk cupbearer
knew I lay crop-sick, and sent me not one cup.
For all my boasting of graces and lofty stations,
she sent me no news of a single station gained.
Hafez, keep to good manners: no reckoning is owed
if the king sent down no message to his slave.