Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 138
His memory be kept — who at the hour of parting thought not once of us,
who gladdened not with one farewell our sorrow-wearied heart.
That youth of fortune, tracing out the sign of grace and glad assent,
I know not why he would not set his aged bondsman free.
I'll wash my paper garment in a flood of bloody tears — for Heaven
gave me no guiding hand to lead me to the standard's foot.
The heart, in hope some cry might somehow reach as far as you,
raised in this mountain such laments as Farhad never raised.
Since you drew back your shadow from the meadow, the dawn-bird
has built no nest within the curling ringlet of the box-tree's crown.
It well may be the courier-breeze took lessons in its trade from you,
for nothing ever moved so nimbly — the wind itself moved not so quick.
The pen of the Adorner's art will trace no picture of desire
for him who would not own and bless this God-bestowed and matchless grace.
O minstrel, change the mode and strike the melody of Iraq,
for by that road the Friend departed, and did not once remember us.
The song of Hafez is the very ghazals of Iraq;
who heard this heart-consuming air and did not cry aloud?