An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 68
My moon went away this week, and to my eye it is a year;
what do you know of the state of parting from you — how hard a state it is!
The pupil of the eye, from the grace of her face, within her face
saw its own reflection and took it for a musky mole.
Milk still drips from her lip that is like sugar,
though in coquetry every lash of hers is a slayer.
O you who are pointed out for bounty throughout the city,
oh, in the affair of strangers, how strange is your neglect!
Hereafter I shall have no doubt in the single indivisible atom,
for your mouth, upon this point, is a fine argument.
They gave the glad news that you will make a passage by us;
turn not aside your good intent, for it is a blessed omen.
How shall the mountain of your parting's grief be borne
by weary Hafez, whose body, from lament, is like a reed?