An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 35
Go about your own business, O preacher — what is this clamor?
My heart has fallen from the road; what has befallen you?
In her waist, which God created out of nothing,
there is a subtlety that no created being has unraveled.
Until his lip, like a reed-pipe, brings me to my desire,
the counsel of all the world is but wind in my ear.
The beggar of your street is above need of the eight paradises;
the captive of your love is free of both the worlds.
Although love's drunkenness has laid me in ruin, yet
the foundation of my being is made prosperous by that ruin.
O heart, moan not at the friend's injustice and tyranny; the friend
allotted you just this — and this is of that gift.
Go, read no fable, breathe no spell, Hafez;
for of such fables and spells I have store enough.