An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 308
O you whose cheek is like paradise and your ruby lip like Salsabil,
your Salsabil has given soul and heart away as its own thoroughfare.
The green-clad down that borders round your lip
is like the ants that throng about the fount of Salsabil.
The arrow of your eye, in every corner of the world,
keeps, fallen even as I am, a hundred slain.
O Lord, this fire that dwells within my soul,
make it cool, as once you made it cool upon the Friend.
I find no room for hope, O friends,
though hers is a beauty of the fairest kind.
Our foot is lame, and the road to the stage is long;
our hand is short, and the dates hang high upon the palm.
Hafez, from the talon-grip of the idol's love,
has fallen, like an ant, beneath the elephant's foot.
To the king of the world may there be long life, honour and delight,
and every good thing that is of this same kind.