An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 296
If my star lend its aid, I'll bring her hem within my grasp;
if I draw her — oh, what joy! and if she draw me — oh, what honour!
This hope-brimming heart bound itself to no man's bounty,
though rumour bears my story off to every quarter.
From the arch of your brow no least relief has come to me;
alas, that in this crooked dream my precious life is squandered.
When shall the Friend's brow become the plaything of my fancy?
None from that bow has struck the arrow of desire upon the mark.
How long shall I nurse with tenderness the love of stone-hearted idols?
They keep no thought of their father, these degenerate sons.
I, dreaming of a corner-cloistered piety — and, wondrous strange,
a Magian boy assails me from all sides with harp and tambourine.
The ascetics are heedless — recite the Book, and 'speak not';
the constable is drunk on cant — pour the wine, and 'fear not.'
Behold the city's Sufi, how he swallows the morsel of doubt;
long may his crupper trail — that well-fed beast!
Hafez, if you tread the road of the Household in sincerity,
the zeal of Najaf's own warden shall be the escort of your way.