Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 66
Lament, O nightingale, if your friendship is with me,
for we are two wailing lovers, and our whole task is wailing.
In that land where a breeze blows from the Friend's tress,
what place is there for the boast of the musk-pods of Tartary?
Bring wine, that we may dye the raiment of hypocrisy,
for we are drunk with the cup of pride, and our name is sobriety.
To ripen the fancy of your tress is not every raw one's work,
for to walk beneath the chain is the way of the rends.
There is a hidden subtlety from which love arises,
whose name is neither ruby lip nor verdigris-down.
The beauty of a person is not eye and tress and cheek and mole;
a thousand fine points lie in this craft of holding the heart.
The qalandars of truth would not buy for half a barleycorn
the satin robe of one who is bare of any skill.
To your threshold it is hard to attain — yea,
the ascent to the heaven of lordship is achieved with pain.
At dawn I saw in a dream the coquetry of your eye;
oh, the high ranks of a sleep that is better than waking!
Vex not his heart with lament, and make an end, Hafez,
for everlasting salvation lies in doing little harm.