An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 490
In all the Magian convent there is none distraught as I;
my cloak in pledge for wine in one place, my book in another.
The heart, that mirror of the king, has gathered dust;
I ask of God the company of one bright of mind.
I have repented at the hand of the wine-selling idol,
that never again will I drink without a banquet-adorner's face.
If the narcissus boasts of your eye's own manner, take no offense;
the people of insight walk not behind a blind one.
Perhaps the candle will bring this tale's telling to its tongue;
else the moth has no leisure for speech.
I have bound streams from my eye down to my skirt, that perhaps
they may seat beside me one of upright stature.
Bring the ship of wine, for without the Friend's face
every corner of my eye, from the heart's grief, has become a sea.
Speak me no word of another, O worshiper of the Beloved,
for, save her and the cup of wine, I care for none.
How sweetly this saying came to me, that at dawn a Christian monk
was chanting at a tavern's door, with tambourine and reed:
“If the Islam that Hafez holds be only this,
alas, if a tomorrow should follow upon this today!”