Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 454
From the Friend's own street comes the breeze of the Nowruz wind;
seek aid from this wind, and you may kindle the lamp of the heart.
Like the rose, if you own a mite, for God's sake spend it on joy,
for the lust to hoard gold led Korah into a maze of errors.
From the rose's cup the nightingale is again so drunk on ruby wine
it struck the turquoise sphere with the whistle of victory's throne.
Go to the plain, that you shake the dust of grief from your hem;
come to the rose-garden, to learn ghazal-song from the nightingale.
Since no eternity is possible, O heart, in this turquoise hall,
count precious the room for joy, in victory and in bliss.
What is the way of granting joy? To forsake one's own desire;
the crown of lordship is that which you sew of this forsaking.
I speak veiled words — come forth, like the rose, from the bud,
for it lasts no more than five days, the reign of the Nowruz Prince.
I know not what the ring-dove laments by the streamside;
perhaps she too, like me, has a grief by day and night.
I have a wine clear as the soul, and the Sufi finds it fault;
God grant that no wise man ever draw an ill fate for his lot.
Your sweet Friend has parted — now sit alone, O candle,
for so heaven decrees, whether you make merry or burn.
Pompous learning cannot bar you from the means of mirth;
come, cupbearer — to the simple the daily bread comes sweeter.
Drink wine in the Asaf's assembly, at the Jalali Nowruz,
for one draught of your cup grants the world the order of Nowruz.
Not Hafez alone offers up the prayer of Master Turanshah;
from an Asaf's praise the world seeks a Feast and a Nowruz.
To the pious, his court is the prayer-niche of heart and eye;
to the dawn-risers, his brow is the day of triumph and light.