Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 311
I am the lover of the face of a sweet, newly-blossomed youth,
and this very grief I begged of God, in prayer, as a boon.
Lover, rend, and gazer-at-beauty am I — and I say it plain,
that you may know with how many arts I am adorned.
Shame comes upon me from my own stained cloak,
on which I have trimmed the patches with a hundred conjurer's tricks.
Burn well from her grief, O candle, for now I too
have girded my belt to this same work, and risen up.
In such bewilderment the profit of the work slipped from my hand;
I have added to grief all that I subtracted from heart and soul.
Like Hafez, I'll go to the tavern with my tunic flung open;
perhaps that newly-blossomed heart-thief will draw me to her breast.