An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 264
Rise, pour the joy-giving water into the golden bowl,
ere the bowl of the skull be flung down into the dust.
Our lodging, in the end, is the valley of the silent;
for now, cast a clamour up into the dome of the heavens.
The eye of tainted sight is far from the Beloved's cheek;
cast your glance on that face from an unsullied mirror.
By your green head, O cypress—should I become mere dust,
lay down your coquetry, and cast your shade upon this dust.
Our heart, that was stung by the serpent at your tress's crown,
cast into the healing-house of the antidote of your lip.
You know this field's possession grants no lasting hold;
cast a fire from the cup's own core into these estates.
I bathed in my tears, for the people of the Path have said:
'Grow pure first, and then cast your gaze on that pure one.'
O Lord, that self-admiring ascetic, who saw but fault—
cast the smoke of his sighing into the mirror of his own perceiving.
Like the rose, from her fragrance rend your garment, Hafez,
and cast that rent robe in the road of that nimble form.