An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 203
For years and years our ledger lay in pledge and bond to the red wine;
the tavern's very lustre shone from our lesson and our prayer.
Behold the Magian Elder's grace: with us, poor sots who drank amiss,
whatever thing we ever did seemed fair before his generous eye.
Wash clean away with wine entire the whole dark book of our own lore,
for I have seen how the wheeling sky plots ever against the knowing heart.
Seek that from the fair idols, O heart, if you would know true loveliness,
for one who saw with the seer's eye spoke thus within the science of the gaze.
The heart, compass-like, was wheeling round, revolving toward its every side,
and in that circle, dazed and lost, it yet stood firm and rooted fast.
The minstrel wrought and played a strain out of the aching pain of love,
at which the wise men of the world had lashes straining out their blood.
I blossomed and unfolded with joy—for, like the rose at the streamlet's lip,
above my head there fell and lay the shade of that tall, slender cypress.
My rose-hued Elder, of the folk who go in blue, would grant no leave
for spiteful words—else many a tale had risen up to tell of them.
The tarnished, counterfeit coin of Hafez could not be spent upon that man,
for this shrewd merchant of the soul saw clear through every hidden flaw.