Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 26
Tress disheveled, dewed with sweat, laughing-lipped and drunk,
shirt torn, chanting ghazals, a wine-flask in hand —
her narcissus-eye brawl-seeking, her lip sighing regret,
at midnight last night she came to my pillow and sat.
She bent her head to my ear, and in a mournful voice
said: O my ancient lover, do you lie asleep?
A lover to whom they give such a dawn-drinking wine
is an infidel to love, if he turn no wine-worshiper.
Go, O ascetic, and cavil not at the dreg-drinkers;
no gift but this were we given on the Day of 'Am I not?'
Whatever He poured into our cup, that we drank —
be it the wine of Paradise or a draught of the earth.
The laughter of the wine-cup and the knotting tress of the idol —
how many a repentance, like Hafez's, they have broken!