An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 349
Last night I said: I will cast the fancy of her face from my head;
she said: 'Where is the chain, that I may deal with this madman?'
I called her stature a cypress; in wrath she drew her head from me:
'Friends take offence at truth' — my idol; what then am I to do?
I spoke an ill-weighed word — Beloved, hold me excused;
grant one coy grace, that I may set my nature into measure.
I bear this sallow-facedness for that delicate temper's innocence:
O cupbearer, give me a cup, that I may bring the rose-hue to my cheek.
O breeze of the dwelling of Layla, for God's sake, how long
shall I overthrow the quarter, and turn its ruins to a river Oxus?
I, who have found my way to the boundless treasure of the Friend's beauty,
will make a hundred beggars like myself into a Korah hereafter.
O moon of the auspicious conjunction, remember your slave Hafez,
that I may pray for the fortune of that ever-waxing beauty.