An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 369
We looked to our friends with the eye that hopes for a friend's true kindness;
it was itself an error, that whole thing our fancy shaped.
To learn on whom at last the tree of friendship bears its fruit —
for now we simply went our way and cast a seed to grow.
Wrangling was never the way and custom of the dervish path;
else we had many a matter still to reckon out with you.
The manner of your eye kept hidden the treachery of war;
we fell into the error of it, and reckoned it for peace.
The rose-bush of your beauty grew not heart-illumining alone;
it was we who breathed upon it the breath of high resolve.
Sharp words were spoken, yet not a soul made open his complaint;
the side of reverence and respect we never let go slack.
She said: 'You gave your heart to us of your own will, O Hafez;
upon no living soul have we set a collector to demand.'