Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 126
The soul, without the Beloved's beauty, has no leaning to the world;
whoever has not this, in truth possesses not that.
Of that heart-holder I have found no trace with anyone;
either I have no tidings, or she leaves no trace.
Every dewdrop on this road is a hundred seas of fire;
alas, that this riddle admits no gloss nor explanation.
One cannot let slip the resting-place of the heart's release;
O caravan-master, halt — for this road has no end.
The bent-backed harp is calling you to revel;
give ear, for the counsel of the old will do you no harm.
O heart, learn the rend's own way from the constable of morals;
he is drunk, and no one so much as suspects him of it.
The tale of Korah's hoard, which the days flung to the wind,
recite in the heart's ear, that it hoard no gold in secret.
Even were the rival the candle, hide your secrets from him,
for that headless wanton keeps no lock upon its tongue.
No one in the world has a slave the like of Hafez,
for no one in the world has a king the like of you.