Postcard IR-395

My face seamed with dust, mine eyes wet.
Of dust and tears the turquoise firmament
Kneadeth the bricks for joy’s abode; and yet …
Alas, and weeping yet I make lament!
Because the moon her jealous glances set
Upon the bow-bent eyebrows of my moon,
He sought a lodging in the grave—too soon!
-from the Divan of Hafez, a poem written upon the death of his son