Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 87
Your beauty, leagued with sweetness of grace, has taken the world;
yes — in league, indeed, a world may all be taken.
The candle would have betrayed the secret of the recluses;
thank God, its heart's own secret stuck fast upon its tongue.
From this concealed fire that lies smouldering in my breast,
the sun is but a flame that has caught and flared in the sky.
The rose would have breathed a word of the Friend's own hue and scent;
from jealousy the breeze stopped up its breath in its mouth.
At ease I was travelling the outer rim, like a compass;
fortune, like the point, at the last caught me in the centre.
That day the longing for the wine-cup burned my ripened harvest,
when fire from the glow of the cupbearer's cheek caught hold within.
I mean to set off for the Magians' lane, shaking my sleeve free
of these seditions that have seized the skirt of the age's end.
Drink wine — for whoever saw at the last the way of the world
rose up light from his grief and reached for the heavy goblet.
On the rose-leaf, in the anemone's own blood, they have written:
'He who came to ripeness took wine as red as the Judas-tree.'
O Hafez, since the water of grace drips down from your verse,
how shall the envious ever find one point in it to fault?