Un presagio da Hafez
Ghazal 97
You are the one who, over a realm's fair, sits crowned like a diadem;
meet it is that all the heart-ravishers should render you their tribute.
Your two wanton eyes have overthrown Cathay and Abyssinia;
to the coil of your tress, Machin and India have paid their tax.
The white of your face shines bright as the very cheek of the day;
the black of your dark tress is the gloom of the deepest night.
The honey of your mouth has undone the currency of Khizr's water;
your lip, sweet as candy, has robbed Egypt's sugar of its trade.
From this malady, in truth, I shall never find a cure,
for from you, O my soul, the heart's own ache comes to no healing.
Why do you keep breaking my soul with your hardness of heart —
a frail heart, tender in its delicacy as glass?
Your lip is Khizr, and your mouth the very Water of Life;
your form a cypress, your waist a hair, your bosom shaped like ivory.
Into the heart of Hafez has fallen the longing for a king like you;
would that I were the least mote of dust before your door!