Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 14
I said: O sultan of the fair, have mercy on this stranger;
she said: chasing the heart, the poor stranger loses the way.
I said: pass not by, a while; she said: hold me excused —
one nursed in comfort, how should she bear the grief of so many strangers?
What grief has a darling asleep on royal ermine,
if a stranger makes his bed and pillow of thorn and stone?
O you in the chain of whose tress is room for many a friend,
how well that musky mole has fallen on your bright, rare cheek.
The gleam of wine shows in the hue of your moon-like face,
strange as a Judas-blossom on a page of white wild rose.
Very strange has fallen that fine down about your cheek,
though in beauty's gallery musky down is no strange thing.
I said: O the strangers' nightfall, your night-hued lock —
beware at dawn, when this stranger begins to lament.
She said: Hafez, even the intimates stand in bewilderment;
no wonder if the weary, hapless stranger sits apart.