An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 12
O you — the moon of beauty draws its glow from your radiant face;
the very grace of loveliness wells from the pit of your chin.
My soul, risen to my lips, is bent on beholding you;
shall it turn back or go forth? What is your command?
No one in the reign of your narcissus-eye has gained a share of ease;
better they sell no chastity to your drunkards.
Our sleep-heavy fortune will perhaps awaken now,
since your radiant face has dashed water on its eyes.
Send with the breeze a nosegay from your cheek,
that we may catch some scent from the dust of your garden.
Long life and heart's desire, O cupbearers of Jamshid's feast,
though our cup was never filled with wine in your round.
My heart is falling to ruin — inform the beloved;
take heed, O friends, by my life and by yours.
When, O Lord, will this wish be granted — that they join hands,
our gathered mind and your disheveled locks?
Keep your skirt from dust and blood as you pass by us,
for on this road lie many slain, sacrificed for you.
Hafez makes a prayer — hear it, and answer Amen:
may your sugar-scattering ruby lip be our daily bread.
O breeze, say from us to the dwellers of the city of Yazd:
'May the heads of the ingrate be the ball for your polo-stick.'
Though far from the carpet of nearness, our aspiration is not far;
we are the slave of your king and the singer of your praise.
O high-fortuned king of kings, for God's sake, one favor:
that I may kiss, like a star, the dust of your hall.