An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 383
However much I told my grief to the assembled physicians,
they brought no healing to the poor and wretched strangers.
That rose, which every moment lies within the hand of a wind,
say to it: let it feel its shame before the nightingales.
O Lord, grant a respite, that once again they may behold —
the eyes of those who love the faces of the ones beloved.
The casket of love is still unbroken upon its seal;
O Lord, let not the rivals' longing come to be fulfilled.
O bountiful one, at last, at the table of your largess —
how long shall we remain among the portionless and poor?
Hafez, you would never have turned the madman of the world,
had you but hearkened to the counsel of the men of letters.