An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 278
I crave a bitter wine whose strength can fell a man,
that I may rest one breath from the world, its evil and its din.
The board of this base-nurturing age holds no honey of ease;
O heart, wash from your palate the bitter and brackish taste of greed.
Bring wine, for none can be safe from the guile of the sky,
with harping Venus at her play and the warlike Mars in arms.
Fling down the noose of Bahram's hunt, take up Jamshid's cup;
for I have crossed this waste—there is no Bahram, nor his wild ass.
Come, that in your limpid wine I may show you the age's secret,
on the condition that you show it not to the blind-hearted crooked.
To look upon the dervishes runs not counter to greatness;
Solomon, for all his splendour, cast his glance upon his ant.
The bow of the Beloved's brow turns not its face from Hafez;
and yet it must laugh at this his strengthless, feeble arm.