Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 34
The portico of my eye's vision is your nest;
show grace and alight — the house is your own house.
By the grace of mole and down you have stolen the mystics' hearts;
wondrous subtleties lie beneath your snare and bait.
May your heart be glad, O nightingale, at the rose's union in the breeze,
for in the meadow all the loving song is yours.
Refer the cure of our heart's faintness to your lip,
for this ruby restorative is in your treasury.
In body I am remiss in the fortune of your service,
yet the essence of my soul is the dust of your threshold.
I am not one to pay the cash of my heart to every coquette;
it lies in the treasury, under your seal and your mark.
What a plaything you yourself are, O sweet-mannered royal rider,
that a steed restive as the sky is tame to your whip.
How should I count, when the conjuring sphere itself slips
from these tricks that lie in the sack of your pretext?
The song of your assembly now sets the heavens dancing,
for the verse of sweet-spoken Hafez is your melody.