Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 413
The down upon the Friend's cheek, that stole the moon's own light —
it is a fair ring, yet there is no road out of it.
The Friend's brow is the corner-niche of fortune's mihrab;
rub your face there, and beg your every need of it.
O draught-drinker of Jamshid's assembly, keep the breast pure,
for the world-revealing cup is a mirror — alas, from it!
The doings of the cloister-folk have made me a worshipper of wine;
behold this smoke, by which my record has been blackened from it.
The Sultan of grief — whatever he can do, say: let him do it;
I have carried my refuge to the wine-sellers, away from him.
Cupbearer, hold the lamp of wine upon the pathway of the sun;
say: let the dawn's own torch be kindled from it.
Sprinkle a water of grace upon the ledger of our deeds;
it may be that the letters of sin can be effaced from it.
Hafez, who tuned anew the minstrel-song of lovers —
may this banquet's arena never lie empty of him.
Will there yet dawn, in this fond dream the city's beggar holds,
a day when the king will make some mention of him?