An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 22
When you hear the words of the people of the heart, say not they are wrong;
you are no judge of speech, my dear — the error lies just here.
My head bows neither to this world nor the next;
blessed be God for these turmoils that possess our head.
Within me, the weary of heart, I know not who it is;
for I am silent, and he is all outcry and uproar.
My heart has burst its veil — where are you, O minstrel?
Play on! for from this melody our affair comes into tune.
Never had I any regard for the affairs of the world;
it is your face that decked it so fair in my eyes.
I have not slept, for a fancy my heart keeps brewing;
I bear a hundred nights' hangover — where is the wine-house?
Since the cloister has been so stained with my heart's blood,
if you would wash me with wine, the right is in your hands.
For this the Magians' convent holds me dear:
that a fire which never dies is always in our heart.
What melody was it the minstrel played behind the veil,
that life is spent, and still my head is full of longing?
The call of your love was sounded within me last night;
the vault of Hafez's breast is filled with its echo yet.