Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 243
Your sweet fragrance, whoever caught it on the dawn breeze,
heard familiar speech from the familiar Friend.
O king of beauty, cast an eye upon the beggar's state,
for this ear has heard tales enough of king and beggar.
Sweetly I refresh my soul's nostril with musky wine,
for it has smelled hypocrisy on the cloistered wearer of the cloak.
The secret of God, which the gnostic wayfarer told to none —
I marvel from where the wine-seller came to hear it.
O Lord, where is a confidant of the mystery, that for one moment
the heart might set forth what it said, and all that it heard?
This was no fit reward for my grateful heart,
that it should hear an unworthy word from its own comforter.
If I was barred from the head of her street, what of it?
From the rose-garden of this age, who ever caught the scent of faith?
Cupbearer, come, for love proclaims aloud
that whoever has told our tale has heard it too from us.
We drink wine beneath the cloak not first today;
a hundred times the tavern's Elder has heard of this affair.
We drain our wine to the harp's cry not first today;
many an age has passed since the sphere's dome heard this sound.
The sage's counsel is pure right and the very good;
fortunate is he who heard it with an ear of assent.
Hafez, your office is but to say the prayer, no more;
be not troubled whether he heard it or heard it not.