Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 441
What would it be, were that moon's heart but tender,
so our plight were not thus, if it were but so?
I would have said: what worth the breeze of the Friend's tress,
were there a thousand souls on every single hair?
How would the warrant of our gladness dwindle, Lord,
had it but one small token of safety from the age's ill?
Had the age but held me head-high and dear,
the throne of my honour had been that threshold's dust.
Would she came forth from the veil, like a falling tear,
that her command might flow over these two eyes of mine.
Had the circle of love not barred the way,
like the centre-point, Hafez had stood bewildered within.