An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 218
In pre-eternity, whoe'er was deemed worth the grace of high estate,
to all the endless age to come, his cup of joy is the soul's own mate.
That very hour when I resolved to make repentance of the wine,
I said: if this vine-branch should bear fruit, its fruit will be but sad regret.
Grant even that I cast the prayer-mat, lily-like, upon my back,
yet, like the rose, wine's crimson stain upon my cloak would be my faith.
Without the bright lamp of the cup I dare not sit in solitude,
for the still corner of the man of heart must needs be luminous with light.
Seek a high aspiring will; say let there be no jewel-crusted cup,
for to the rake the grape's clear water is a ruby fine as pomegranate.
Though our whole state may seem in ruin, do not deem it a light thing,
for in this realm of ours, sheer beggary was the very envy of a throne.
If you would win a name of honour, heart, keep no bad company,
for self-conceit, my very soul, was ever the sure proof of folly.
The feast of friendship, spring's own bloom, and talk of poetry in the midst—
not to take the wine-cup from the Friend was heaviness and dullness of soul.
Yesterday a dear one said: 'Hafez drinks his wine in secrecy';
O my dear friend, the fault is none—far better that it stayed concealed.