An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 69
There is none who is not fallen for that doubled tress;
on whose pathway is there not a snare of calamity?
Since your eye steals the heart from the corner-dwellers,
to be your companion is no sin on our part.
Your face, perhaps, is the mirror of the divine grace;
truly it is so, and in this there is no cant or show.
The narcissus covets the manner of your eye — bravo, that eye!
the poor thing has no news of it, and in its sight is no shame.
For God's sake, dress not your tress, for we have
no night in which are not a hundred brawls with the dawn breeze.
Come back — for without your face, O heart-kindling candle,
in the feast of the revellers is no trace of light or purity.
To tend the stranger is the very trace of fair repute;
my soul, can this rule perhaps not hold within your city?
Yesterday she was leaving, and I said: O idol, keep the covenant;
she said: you err, master — in this age there is no faith.
If the Magian Elder became my guide, what difference?
there is no head in which there lies not a secret of God.
What can the lover do, if he bear not the burden of blame?
with no brave one is there a shield against the arrow of fate.
In the ascetic's cell and the Sufi's retreat alike,
there is no prayer-niche but the corner of your brow.
O you who have plunged your claw into the blood of Hafez's heart,
is your intent, perhaps, not from zeal for the Qur'an and God?