Armenian Legends and Poems  at sacred-texts.com
A sea of blood is in my heart, and tears forever fill my eyes;
No salve can heal my wound, the cure in my beloved's presence lies.
All sick of love I lay, and watched her pathway with my longing eyes;
When I was dead she came; ’twas but the layer-out who heard her sighs.
Fair springtime now is fully here, the meadows gay with leaf and flower;
The hill-sides strewn with violets, the nightingale sent to the bower.
But why cannot his voice be heard id O thorn-tree, whence thy cruel power?
Thy branches pierced . his heart; the rose was mourning left within her tower.
The scarlet poppy thought to tempt and lure the wandering nightingale,
When he was dreaming of the rose tied round with wisps of basil pale.
None pitied him--the rose was plucked by those who first came to the vale.
Alas, poor nightingale, the hedge has caught and pierced thy body frail!
God knows my life I count but nought; for thee I'd give it joyfully.
Come, let us taste of love's delights, let him that listeth envious be.
No wish of thine shall be refused, so but thy face I radiant see.
If immortality thou’dst have, my love shall e’en bring that to thee.
And if I had a thousand woes no murmur from my lips would rise:
Thou art my Ruler, none beside; no sovereign own I otherwise.
Sayat Nova says, "Heartless one, death is not death for him who dies
So thou but mourn him with thy locks spread over him, Light of my Eyes."