An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 402
A heart-luring point I'll tell — behold that moon-face's mole;
behold reason and soul bound fast in that tress's chain.
I blamed my heart: 'Be not so wild, so vagrant everywhere';
it said: 'Behold that lion-taming eye, that gazelle's grace.'
The ringlet of her curl is the dawn-breeze's theatre;
behold a hundred sages' souls tied there by a single hair.
The worshippers of the sun know nothing of our heart's thief;
O blamer, for God's sake — look not on that face, look on this.
Her heart-thieving tress has bound a collar on the breeze's neck;
among the road's well-wishers, mark the Indian curl's cunning.
That I, in searching for her, grew free at last of my self —
none has beheld her like, nor shall — go, look on every side.
If Hafez laments in the mihrab's corner, it is meet;
O counsellor, for God's sake — behold that curving brow.
From the will of Shah Mansur, O sphere, turn not your head;
behold the sword's keen edge, behold the strong arm's might.