An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 266
My heart is fled to a gypsy-fair one, a stirrer of tumult,
false in her vows, deadly in manner, a mingler of hues.
Let a thousand robes of piety, and cloaks of abstinence,
be offered up for the torn shirt of the moon-faced ones!
The fancy of your mole I shall bear with me into the dust,
that from your mole my very dust may be blent with perfume.
The angel of heaven knows not what wine is, O cupbearer;
call for a cup, and pour some rosewater on Adam's clay.
Bind the cup to my shroud, that at the dawn of the Rising
with wine I may drive from my heart the terror of that Day.
Poor and worn, I have come to your court—have mercy!—
for save your love I have no handhold at all.
Come, for the tavern's unseen herald told me last night:
'Dwell in the station of acceptance, and flee not from Fate.'
Between the lover and Beloved there is no veil at all;
you yourself are your own veil, Hafez—rise from between.