An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 2
Where is sober virtue — and where am I, the ruined one?
See the gulf of that road: from where it runs, to where.
My heart wearied of the cloister and the sanctimonious frock;
where is the Magians' convent, and where the pure, bright wine?
What kinship have piety and abstinence with the rend's free way?
Where is the preacher's sermon, and where the rebec's cry?
What can the hearts of foes grasp of the Beloved's face?
Where is a dead lamp, and where the candle of the sun?
Since the dust of your threshold is the collyrium of our sight,
where should we turn? Command us — from this court, but where?
Gaze not on the apple of her chin — a pit lies in the road;
where do you race, O heart, in such headlong haste, to where?
Gone are the days of union — may their memory be sweet;
where went that coquetry, and where that sweet reproach?
Look for no rest, no sleep, from Hafez, O my friend;
what is rest, what is patience — and where, oh where, is sleep?