An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 295
At dawn, drawn by the rose-garden's scent, I stepped into the garden,
that, like the heart-lost nightingale, I might cure my troubled soul.
I stood and gazed upon the flourishing of the crimson rose,
that shone within the black of night, in brightness, like a lamp,
So vain of its own loveliness and youth
that it held the nightingale's whole heart in careless disregard.
The graceful narcissus had brimmed, from longing, its eye with water;
the tulip, from passion, had branded soul and heart with a hundred scars;
The lily had drawn out its tongue, like a sword, to chide;
the anemone had gaped its mouth, like a tale-bearing sneak;
One, like the wine-devotees, the flask held fast in hand;
one, like the drunkards' cupbearer, cradled the goblet in its palm.
Reckon mirth and pleasure and youth, like the rose, as spoil,
for, O Hafez, upon the Messenger lies nothing but to deliver the word.