Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 408
O sun — the mirror-holder to your beauty;
the black musk — the incense-swinger to your mole.
I washed the courtyard of my eye's dwelling — yet what use,
when this nook is unworthy of the retinue of your image?
You are at the height of grace and bounty, O king of beauty;
O Lord, until the Judgment let there be no waning of you.
No form more pleasing than your figure has fate ever drawn —
the decree-scribe of your musky, likeness-tracing brow.
In the coil of her curl, poor heart of mine, how do you fare?
For the dawn-breeze, distraught, told me the tale of your state.
The rose's scent has risen — come in at peace's door,
O our new spring, with your face of blessed omen.
That the sky may join the ring-eared bondsmen of ours,
where is one coquetry from that crescent brow of yours?
That I may go back to my fortune with congratulation,
where is one glad tiding of union's Feast with you?
This black point, that became the orbit of the light,
is, in insight's garden, a reflection of your mole.
Before the king, which of my wrongs shall I set forth —
the account of my own need, or of your weariness of me?
Hafez — in this noose lie many heads of the rebellious;
cook up no crooked scheme, for it lies beyond your scope.