An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 201
Pure, unfermented wine and a sweet cupbearer—two snares upon the road,
and from their noose the shrewdest men of all the world can never break.
Though I am lover, rake and drunk, with a page all black with my misdeeds,
a thousand thanks the friends of this fair town are guiltless, one and all.
Cruelty is no craft or trade of dervishhood and pilgrim's way;
then bring the wine—for these poor wayfarers are not the road's true men.
Look not with scorn upon the beggars in the mendicancy of love,
for this same folk are crownless Khosrows, kings who wear no royal belt.
Be watchful, for when once there blows the wind of Heaven's self-sufficing pride,
they will not lay a thousand harvests of obedience for half a grain.
Do it not, lest the pomp and state of heart-beguiling all be broke,
when your bond-slaves take to their heels and every servant leaps away.
I am the bondsman of the will of the single-hued dreg-drinking men,
not of that troop who go blue-clad without, yet bear a heart of black.
Set not your foot within the tavern save on terms of reverent grace,
for they who tread its threshold are the intimates of the King of kings.
The court of love is lofty, Hafez—summon a high aspiring soul,
for lovers grant no passage there to those whom high resolve has left.