Резултати претраге

I Have a Word I Fain Would Say (Trans. by Zabel C. Boyajian)

I have a word I fain would say—list patiently, Light of my Eyes

Thy Voice is Sweet (Translation by Zabel C. Boyajian)

Thy voice is soft, thy speech all sweetness flows

Without the what are the song and dance to me? (Translation by Zabele C. Boyajian)

Without thee what are song and dance to me?
The castagnettes I throw down wearily.
My heart and thoughts are ever filled with thee,
So rhymes and verses leave me, one by one.
 
How can one bandage serve for gashes twain?
How on two masters wait a single swain?
Would not one gardener tend two groves in vain?
For he must graft the saplings one by one.
 
Well said our fathers, speaking of such woes,
“I made a garden, others plucked the rose.
Theirs was the sweetness, mine the thorny close.”
In sooth these things befell me one by one!
 
Without thee what are riches unto me?
What worth could I in silks or cashmeres see?
Arrayed in rags and sackcloth I would be,
Wandering around the convents, one by one,
 
To meet perchance with some one, who might tell,
My fair one, how to free me from thy spell

Thou Art So Sweet (Translation by Zabel C. Boyajian)

Thou art so sweet thou wilt not pain the minstrel singing songs to thee,
But when he loves thee thou dost frown—in vain he tells his wrongs to thee.
 
Love’s fire is such, ‘twill not consume—‘twill burn, and burn, and ever burn:
If in that sea of flame I fall to cool me thou wilt never turn.
 
Alas, how shall the minstrel bear thy lightning gleams that pierce his heart?
No pact or treaty wilt thou make—a monarch absolute thou art.
 
If thou dost meet with mountains high like wax thou meltest them away

I Beheld My Love This Morning (Translated by Z. C. Boyajian)

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I beheld my love this morning, in the garden paths she strayed,
All brocaded was the ground with prints her golden pattens made