Kura's sweet banks abound with lovely places.
How sad that other beauties should be missed!
Those silken tresses, captivating' faces— Alas!
It seems that here they don't exist.

Our wintering-place is in Giragbasan—
The lowest plain that lies beneath the sun.
A lodge we dwell in, but there's only one. Alas!
No villages near here exist!

Yet there are girls of beauty living here,
With tulip lips and eyes both proud and clear;
But no sweet-tongued and playful little dear
To warm the heart and give its strings a twist.

Though balmy air is wine throughout the night,
No lips with languorous moan exhale delight.
Although the girls are such a lovely sight,
Among them well-groomed beauties don't exist.

A mass of glory flows from every head...
By jet-black hair a glow of light is spread.
Their dress is silver-trimmed. Their kerchief red.
Without a trace of tule like morning mist.

With golden thread their bodices are sewn.
On milky skins dark beauty-spots are shown.
Their hair hangs free and loose by breezes blown.
It seems that well-trained curls do not exist.

Like crested kestrels each one sports a crown.
Uncovered are their lips and eyes. They frown
Like headsmen when the axe comes flashing down.
If looks could kill I swear I'd not resist.

In far-off parts my heart is dull and sick,
I know girls' winning ways and every trick.
Slim arms are decked with bracelets wide and thick.
There's not one amber bead on any wrist.

They'll primp before a mirror, using paint
To stress a dimpled curve that seems too faint,
To eyes applying shadows with restrain,
But your slim hennaed fingers I have missed.

Vagif has hopes that God may help him yet,
If I stay here the graveyard cough I'll get,
For our sweet nymphs my heart cannot forget.
And yet it's here I still must long exist.

Translated by Tom Botting

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