An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 315
Besides the fact that faith and knowledge slipped out of my hand,
come, tell me: what profit have I gathered from your love?
Though the harvest of my life your grief has given to the wind,
by the dust of your dear foot — I never broke the pact.
Though, like a mote, I am despised — behold, by love's good fortune,
that in longing for your cheek I joined, like a mote, to the sun.
Bring wine, for it is an age now that I, out of safety's calm,
for the sake of pleasure have not sat in the corner of well-being.
If you are one of the sober folk, O giver of counsel,
cast not your words upon the dust — for I am drunk.
How shall I lift my head, for shame, before the Friend,
when no fitting service ever came forth from my hand?
Hafez burned away, and that heart-soothing Friend never said:
'I'll send a balm, for I have wounded his mind.'