An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 89
O Lord, contrive some cause, that my Friend, in safety kept,
may come again, and loose me from the bondage of men's blame.
Bring to me the dust of the road of that travelled Friend,
that I may make my world-beholding eye her dwelling-place.
Alas, they have barred my road from all six of the quarters —
that mole, that down, that tress, that cheek, that face, and that tall form.
Today, while I lie within your hands, grant me one mercy;
tomorrow, when I turn to dust, what use the tear of remorse?
O you who in discourse and in exposition prate of love,
we have no words to trade with you — fare well, and go in peace.
Dervish, lament not under the sword of the beloved ones,
for this tribe exact from the slain the very blood-price of blood.
Set fire to the cloak, for the curve of the cupbearer's brow
shatters the corner of the prayer-niche of the imamate.
God forbid that I should moan at your tyranny and your spite;
the wrong of the graceful ones is all pure grace and bounty.
Hafez cuts not short the disputing over your tress's tip;
this chain is linked, and will hold, until the Day of Reckoning.