An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 314
Last night the sickness of your eye undid me utterly,
yet from the grace of your lip I framed anew the form of the soul.
My love for your musk-dark down is not a thing of today;
long is it now that I am drunk from this crescent cup.
From my own steadfastness this fine point pleased me: that, for all the tyranny,
in your street I never sat down from the foot of seeking.
Look for no soundness from me, the tavern-dweller,
for I have vaunted the service of the rends as long as I live.
On the road of love, beyond annihilation, lie a hundred perils;
say not, when my life reaches its end, that I have won free.
After this, what grief have I of the envier's crooked-flying arrow,
now that I have joined myself to the bow-browed beloved?
A kiss upon your casket of carnelian is lawful to me,
for in regret and cruelty I never broke the seal of faith.
An idol, a plundering host, sacked my heart and rode away;
alas, if the king's kindness take not my hand!
The rank of Hafez's knowledge had risen to the sphere;
the grieving for your lofty box-tree stature laid me low.