Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 150
If the cupbearer pours the wine into the cup with such a hand,
he'll fling all the gnostics headlong into unending drink.
And if he sets the grain of the mole thus under the tress's coil,
oh, many a bird of reason he will cast into the snare.
Oh, blest the fortune of that drunkard, who at his comrade's feet
no longer knows which one he flings away — his head or else his turban.
The raw, half-baked ascetic, who denies the cup and wine,
comes ripe and mellow once he casts a glance upon the raw new wine.
By day strive on in gaining skill — for drinking wine by day
will cast the heart, as it were a mirror, into the rust of dark.
That is the hour the morning-wine glows brightest, when the night
flings round the tent of the horizon the curtain of the eve.
Beware — drink not your wine beside the city's market-warden,
for he will drain your very cup and fling a stone therein.
Hafez, lift up your head from the sun's own cap and crown,
if your fortune casts the lot upon that full and shining moon.