An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 78
Did you see how the Friend had nothing but tyranny and spite?
She broke her troth, and at our grief felt no least grief at all.
O Lord, chastise her not — though she felled my dove-soft heart,
and slew it, sparing not the sanctuary's sacred prey.
The wrong upon me sprang from my own ill-starred fate; else the Friend —
God forbid she should lack the way of grace and the path of kindness.
For all that: whoever suffered no abasement at her hand —
wherever he went, no soul on earth held him in honour.
Cupbearer, bring the wine, and say to the constable of law:
withhold not your blame from us — Jamshid's cup held no such wine.
Every wayfarer who found no road to the courts of her gate —
poor soul, he crossed the wilderness, yet reached no sanctuary.
O Hafez, carry off the ball of eloquence — for the pretender
had no least art within him, nor any tidings either.