An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 455
Life went by in fruitlessness and idle craving;
O son, hand me the wine-cup — profit while you are young.
What bitter jests fill this city, that they've grown content —
the royal falcons of the Path — with the perch of a fly!
Last night I walked in the troop of the slaves of her door;
she said: 'O helpless lover, and who, then, are you?'
With a heart turned to blood he must be sweet, like the musk-pod —
whoever grows famed in the world for a musky breath.
'The lightning flashed from Sinai, and I saw fire there;
perhaps I will bring you a brand from that blazing coal.'
The caravan is gone, you asleep, the desert ahead;
alas, how deaf you are to so many a bell's loud clamour!
Spread your wings and whistle from the Tuba's branch;
a pity a bird like you should be prisoner of a cage.
That, like the censer, I may catch on a breath the Beloved's hem,
I have laid my soul on the fire, in quest of one sweet breath.
How long shall Hafez run for love of you on every side?
'God has made smooth a road to you, O my sought-after one.'