Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 84
Cupbearer, bring the wine, for the month of the fast is gone;
pour out the cup, for the season of name and repute is gone.
The precious hour has fled — come, let us make good again
the years that slipped away without the flask and cup at hand.
Make me so drunk that, lost to self, I shall no longer know
who came and who departed across the field of fancy.
In hope that one drop of your cup might yet come down to us,
on the wine-bench our prayer for you went up each dawn and dusk.
The heart, that lay quite dead, felt a new life reach the soul
the instant a breath of the wine's fragrance stole into its sense.
The ascetic clung to pride, and found no road to safety;
the rend, by the path of humble need, passed on to the Abode of Peace.
The coin of a heart I once possessed was all outlaid on wine;
it was a base black counterfeit, and so it passed for forbidden.
How long may one keep smouldering, like aloes, in penitence's fire?
Give wine, for life has all been spent on a raw and reckless craving.
Counsel Hafez no more, for he has found no road at all —
a strayling, whose pure wine has flowed, sweet, to his heart's desire.