Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 52
A long while now the passion for idols has been my faith;
the grief of this pursuit is the joy of my grieving heart.
To behold your face one needs the soul-beholding eye;
and where in my world-beholding eye is such a rank?
Be my beloved — for the sky's adornment, the age's grace,
are from the moon of your face and my tears like the Pleiades.
Since your love first taught me the art of speech,
the praise and applause of me are on the people's tongue.
O God, make me worthy of the fortune of poverty,
for this bounty is the cause of my grandeur and my state.
Preacher, friend of the constable, boast not this pomp,
for the abode of the sultan is my own poor heart.
O Lord, whose viewing-place is this Kaaba of the goal,
where the thorn-trees of its road are my rose and my wild rose?
Hafez, tell no more the tale of Parviz's splendour,
for his lip but sips the dregs of my sweet Khosrow.