Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 356
If it lie in my power that I sit beside the heart-ravisher,
I will drink wine from the cup of union, and pluck the rose from the garden of joy.
The bitter, Sufi-scorching wine will bear my very foundation away;
set your lip upon my lip, O cupbearer, and take my sweet soul.
Surely I shall go mad in this passion — for from night till day
I speak with the moon, and dream of a fairy in my sleep.
Your lip gave sugar to the drunken, your eye gave wine to the wine-drinkers;
and I, in the depth of my deprivation, am neither with those nor with these.
As every dust the wind bears off wins some bounty from your largesse,
remember the state of your slave, for I am your servant of old.
Not everyone who stitched a design of verse — his words fall pleasing to the heart;
I catch the rare and wondrous pheasant, for my falcon is swift and keen.
If you will not believe it, go and ask of the painter of China,
for Mani begs a copy from the tip of my musk-dark pen.
Fidelity and truth-speaking are not the work of every man;
I am the slave of the second Asaf, Jalal al-Haqq wa'l-Din.
Hear the mysteries of drunkenness and roguery from me, not from the preacher,
for with cup and goblet, every moment, I am the companion of moon and Pleiades.