An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 400
That tall coquetting beauty, that painter of designs,
has cut short the long, long tale of all my abstinence.
Did you see, my heart, what — after age and lore and vows —
my playful-eyed beloved at last has done to me?
I fear my faith lies ruined, for the mihrab of your brow
bears clean away the fervour of my prayer's devotion.
I said: with a hypocrite's frock I'll hide love's telltale sign;
but the tear turned informer, and laid my secret bare.
The Friend is drunk, and makes no mention of the comrades;
yet bless her name — my cupbearer, who cherished the forlorn.
O Lord, when will that east wind blow, that from its breath
the sachet of her bounty may set my whole affair right?
For now, upon the water I trace a form with weeping —
to see how long my metaphor weds the truth it veils.
Like a candle, laughing, I weep away my own self,
to see what my flame and melting do to your stone heart.
Ascetic — since your praying furthers no work at all,
better my night of drunkenness, my whispered plea and prayer.
Hafez has burned with weeping — breeze, go tell his plight
to the friend-nurturing, foe-consuming king.