An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 127
The moon has none of the brightness of your face;
before you, the rose lacks even the freshness of grass.
The corner of your brow is the lodging of my soul;
no king possesses a corner fairer than this.
What can the smoke of my heart do against your cheek? —
you know the mirror cannot bear a single sigh.
See how the wanton narcissus bloomed before you;
the wide, brazen eye keeps no manners in its gaze.
I looked, and that dark-hearted eye which you possess
keeps no regard for any familiar friend.
Give me the heavy goblet, O disciple of the tavern,
to the joy of a shaikh who owns no cloister at all.
Drink your own blood and sit in silence, for that tender heart
has not the strength to raise a plaintiff's cry.
Say, let him go and wash his sleeve in the liver's blood,
whoever finds no road unto this threshold.
Not I alone endure the tyranny of your tress;
who is there that bears not the brand of that dark one?
Hafez, if he bowed in worship to you, hold it no fault;
an infidel of love, O idol, bears no sin.