Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 335
If once more my path should fall into the Magians' tavern,
the yield of cloak and prayer-mat I will gamble on the spot.
If, like the ascetics, I knock today at the ring of repentance,
the tavern's keeper will not open his door to me tomorrow.
And if, like the moth, the ease of soaring flight should come to me,
toward no taper but that cheek shall my winging ever be.
I want no converse of the houri — that were sheer defect —
if with your image I should turn my thought to any other.
The secret of your passion would have stayed hid in my breast,
had not my wet-hemmed eye laid bare and open my secret.
Bird-like, from the cage of dust I took to the air,
in the hope that at last my royal falcon might make me his prey.
Harp-like, if you grant not my heart's desire in your embrace,
from my own lip, like the reed, one breath I will sound for you.
The tale of my blood-drenched heart I tell to no one,
for none but the blade of your grief is a companion of mine.
If on each hair of Hafez's body there were a head,
like your own tress, I would cast them all down at your feet.