An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 364
We, the griefless and the drunk, have let the heart slip from our hand;
we are love's own confidant, and the breath-companion of the wine-cup's brim.
Full often have they bent on us the bow of censure's aim,
since to the Friend's arched brow we yielded up the ordering of our work.
O rose, last night you bore the branding of the dawn-draught's fire;
we are that anemone that is born already branded to the core.
If the Magian Elder has grown weary of our vow of penitence,
say: clear the wine and set it down — we stand here begging his pardon.
The work slips out of your hands — some aid, O guide upon the road,
for we confess the justice of it, and from the road we have fallen astray.
Like the tulip, look not on wine and goblet in the midmost of the work;
look rather on this brand we have laid upon the bleeding heart.
You said: 'O Hafez, what is all this colour and vain fancy for?'
See not the pattern as a fault — we are that self-same unwritten page.