Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 310
Welcome, O bird of fortunate step, of blessed tidings!
A fair arrival — what news? Where is the Friend? Which is the road?
O Lord, may eternal grace be escort to this caravan,
for by it the foe fell into the snare, and the beloved came to my desire.
The affair between me and my beloved has no ending;
whatever has no beginning admits of no end.
The rose has borne indulgence past all bound — show your cheek a breath;
the cypress preens, and it pleases not — for God's sake, come, sway gracefully.
The heart-holder's tress, like a Magian's girdle, keeps commanding wine;
go, O shaikh, for the pious cloak is forbidden upon our body.
The bird of my soul, that whistled from the summit of the Lote-tree,
at last the grain of your mole cast it down into the snare.
For my sick eye no sleep is fitting;
'he whom a wasting sickness is slaying — how should he sleep?'
You take no pity on me — I said in all sincerity:
'that is my plea, and here are you, and there are the days.'
If Hafez inclines toward the arch of your brow, it may well be fitting
that the masters of eloquence make their place in the prayer-niche's nook.