Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 282
She has borne off my repose, my patience, and my wits—
that stony-hearted idol with the silvery ear.
A nimble, sportive idol, wearing her crested cap,
a witty one, moon-like, a Turk in a tunic.
From the heat of the fire of the passion of her love,
like a cauldron, I am forever seething.
Like a shirt, I would grow easy and at rest of mind,
could I but take her, like a tunic, into my arms.
Though my very bones should moulder into decay,
your love would never be effaced from my soul.
My heart and my faith, my heart and my faith she has stolen—
her breast and shoulder, her breast and shoulder, her breast and shoulder.
Your cure, your cure alone is, O Hafez—
her nectar lip, her nectar lip, her nectar lip.