An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 341
If I took thought of the reproach of those who claim against me,
the way of drunkenness and roguery would never leave my hand.
The abstinence of newly-schooled rends is a road toward hell;
I, who am the world's ill-famed, what good repute should I devise?
King of the wild-headed am I, though my table lie in ruin —
for in this scant of wits I outrun all the world.
Trace on your brow a mole from the blood of my own heart,
that all may know I am the sacrifice of you, the infidel of faith.
Show but one sign of belief, and pass on, for God's sake,
that in this patched cloak you may not learn how false a dervish I am.
My blood-raining verse, O wind, bear it to that Beloved,
who from her dark lashes struck her lance upon the vein of my life.
Whether I drink the wine or not — what business is it of any man's?
I am Hafez, the keeper of my own secret, and the gnostic of my own hour.