An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 160
Sweet is the solitude, if the loved one be my sole companion,
not that I should burn away while she is the candle of the throng.
I would not take that seal-ring of Solomon at any price,
upon which, now and again, may fall the hand of Ahriman.
Deem it not right, O God, that in the sacred close of union
the rival be the confidant, and mine the lot of loss.
Tell the Huma never once to cast the shadow of its honour
upon that land where the parrot ranks below the kite.
What need to voice the yearning, when the burning of the heart's own fire
may well be known from that same burning that lives within the speech?
The love of your dear street will not depart my head — yes, truly;
the exile keeps a heart that wanders, bewildered, toward its home.
Though Hafez, like the lily, should grow ten tongues to speak,
before you, like the folded bud, his lips are sealed and still.