No dark-haired beauties grace Kura's long banks
With drake's-head sheen and captivating faces.
My soul has fled to far-off mountain peaks.
It cannot rest in such low places.

No silk or linen natural grace enhances.
No wilful woman preens with tempting glances,
My heart forgets those tender darts-love's lances.
A merchant would be lost in such strange places!

No maiden paints her face to seem more fair.
No golden gauze upon their heads they wear.
No scented breast is draped with silken hair,
Enhancing creamy skin witli dark silk tresses.

In dreams I see the one I love today.
In foreign parts I'll wake to my dismay
And find my heart's delight is far away.
I feel that I must die in these far places.

You see Vagif is pale, his heart oppressed,
For lie was torn away when he caressed
The luscious swelling mounds of your sweet breast,
So grief has marred his cheek with saffron traces.

Translated by Tom Botting

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