Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 220
From out the eye the heart's own blood streams all across our stricken face;
of what is on our face from the eye—what shall I say, what floods there flow!
Deep in the hollow of our breast we have kept a longing hidden close;
if to the wind our heart be borne, it is from that same longing it goes.
The eastern sun would rend its robe in bitter envy at the sight,
if my sweet, love-nursing moon should walk abroad clad in a tunic bright.
Upon the dust of the Friend's own road we have laid down our humble face;
it is but fitting on our face, if the beloved should chance to pass.
A veritable flood is the water of the eye, and every soul who passes—
though his very heart were carved of stone, is stirred and moved from off its place.
We have, by day and night alike, a quarrel with the water of the eye,
because of that road—why, why does it go straying to the head of her street?
Hafez, toward the tavern-street, forever, with a heart sincere and true,
goes, like the cloister-keeping Sufis, moving onward out of purity.