An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 330
You are like the dawn, and I the taper of the solitary morn:
give but one smile, and see my soul — how utterly it is spent.
So branded is my heart with the mark of your rebel tress,
that when I pass away, my grave will grow a bed of violets.
At the threshold of your desire I have flung wide my eye,
that you might cast one glance — and lo, you cast me from your sight.
What thanks to render you, O host of grief — God pardon you! —
who on the day of my forlornness will not depart my head?
Slave to the man within my eye, who with a blackened heart
rains a thousand drops whenever I recount my heart's own pain.
At every glance our idol shows her splendour; yet not one
beholds this play of coquetry as I behold it now.
If, breeze-like, the Beloved should pass above the dust of Hafez,
for longing in that narrow cell I'd rend my very shroud.