Her brows like quivering bowstrings set me yearning.
I'd sacrifice my life for what I see.
I touch one lock and round my head starts turning. . .
Like some bright lamp she sears the heart in me.

How well I know youth's beauty in full spate—
That glowing hair and skin, the supple gait!
My eyes caress that figure slim and straight.
Its grace outdoes the swaying cypress-tree.

Amid the mountain rocks I spend my night
Consumed by dreams to which her face lends light.
If beauty steals my health, as if for spite,
From that sweet sickness never set me free!

I dedicate my trust, my faith and fame
To lovely women. Theirs is my good name.
If their bright eyes condemn me, then, for shame,
From death I shall not flinch with mercy's plea.

Oh, Lord above, I beg you, help Vagif
And grant the solace of a sweet relief.
Let her appear, although her stay be brief,
And as my guest spend just one night with me.

Translated by Tom Botting

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