An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 62
Welcome, O courier of the yearning ones — give the Friend's message,
that I may gladly make my soul a ransom for the Friend's name.
Forever distraught and frenzied, like a nightingale caged,
is the parrot of my nature, from love of the Friend's sugar and almond.
His tress is the snare, his mole the bait of that snare; and I,
in hope of a single grain, have fallen into the Friend's snare.
He will not lift his head from drunkenness till Resurrection's morn,
whoever, like me, at time's dawn drank one draught from the Friend's cup.
I tell but a hint of the tale of my longing, because
to importune the Friend beyond this would be a burden.
Could it but come to my hand, I would draw across my eye like collyrium
the dust of a road ennobled by the footfalls of the Friend.
My leaning is toward union, and His intent toward parting;
I have surrendered my own desire, that the desire of the Friend be met.
Hafez, burn on in His pain, and content yourself uncured,
for the restless pain of the Friend has no remedy.