An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 76
Save at your threshold, in all the world I have no sanctuary;
my head can find no place of resort but this one door.
When the foe unsheathes his sword, I let my buckler fall,
for our only sword is a groan and a rising sigh.
Why should I turn my face away from the tavern-lane,
when the world holds no fairer custom, no better road than this?
Though time should set its torch to the harvest of my years,
say: let it burn — to me it is not worth a wisp of straw.
I am the slave of the wanton eye of that upright cypress,
who, drunk with her own pride, deigns to look on no one.
Pursue no man to wound him, and do whatever you will,
for in the creed we follow there is no sin but this.
Ride with your reins drawn in, O sovereign of beauty's realm,
for no crossroad exists where none cries out for justice.
Seeing, as I do, the snare of the road on every side,
no shelter can I find surer than her sheltering curl.
Yield not the treasury of Hafez's heart to tress and mole,
for tasks like these lie past the reach of every dark one's power.