Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 219
Now that within the meadow-green the rose has come from naught to being,
the violet at its very foot has laid its head down, bowed in prayer.
Drink now the cup of early dawn to the lament of drum and harp;
kiss the round throat-fold of the cupbearer to the melody of reed and lute.
In the rose's season sit not down without the wine, the fair, the harp,
for, like the fleeting day of life, it is a week that is but numbered.
The earth grew bright as heaven itself from the sweet coming-forth of herbs,
beneath a blessed, auspicious star, beneath a fortunate ascendant.
From out the hand of a delicate-cheeked beauty of the Jesus-breath,
drink now the wine, and let go by the ancient tale of Ad and Thamud.
The world became like highest Eden in the season of lily and rose,
yet what avail, when in it here no everlastingness is possible?
When, Solomon-like, the rose ascends and rides upon the passing air,
at dawn, when the bird comes forth to sing upon the melody of David—
Renew now in the garden here the ancient rite of Zarathustra's faith,
now that the tulip has set ablaze the crimson leaping fire of Nimrod.
Call for the cup of early dawn in memory of the age's Asaf,
the vizier of King Solomon's realm, Imad al-Din, the great Mahmud.
It may be that the gathering of Hafez, by the blessing of his nurture,
shall have set present, all fulfilled, whatever thing it seeks to hold.