An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 444
A city thronged with the graceful, an idol at every turn;
friends, it is love's own summons — act, if you would act now.
The sphere's eye never beheld a youth more marvellous;
no idol fairer than this falls to any hand.
Whoever has seen a body compounded of pure soul —
let no dust from these earthly ones defile its hem.
Why drive from before you one broken as I am?
The utmost of my hope is a kiss or an embrace.
The wine is unclouded — seize it; the hour is sweet — make haste;
who has hope, come another year, of a fresh new spring?
In the garden the comrades, like tulip and like rose,
each with a cup in hand to a certain Friend's remembered face.
How shall I loose this knot, and how disclose this secret?
A pain, and a bitter pain; a task, and a grievous task.
Each single hair of Hafez lies in a playful one's tress;
hard it is to dwell in such a land as this.