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Biography Let the banners wave on high ! The Moon over Mtatsminda Night and I Somewhere I saw a face… You at the Sea-Side Snow Fell On Winter Gardens |
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Beneath the shade of a beech tree high In solitude a violet grew. It wished to woo the sunbeams gold And lure them to its realm of blue. The flower in breathless eagerness Waits for the sun-rays from on high And gazes on the sunny world With wistful sighs and tearful eye. The violet longs to curtsey low And dance amidst the sunbeams bright, To have its pretty head adorned With rays of shimmering golden light. The lovely flower droops and weeps; It heaves a piteous, hopeless sigh, For to this realm of shadows soft No rays of sunlight ever fly. The violet's heart in sorrow breaks As on the ground it withering lies. Near by, its dying eyes behold Sun-lighted flowers dance 'neath the skies. |
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O heart, in dreams I behold thee, In toils of despair and of pain. Thy throbbings are wrung by emotions That torture the heart and the brain. The sun and the moon shine no longer, The world lies in darkling and gloom, And my life nursed by grief and by sorrow Is shrouded in darkness and doom. Thus tortured with madness of dreaming, I curse all my past and my life; And the heart embittered and weary Wants but to be freed from the strife. 'Tis torture to live in a land where The faith of one's sires is profaned, Where honour and justice have fallen, Where freedom in darkness is chained. O where are the deeds of true valour Our past and our heritage claim? Thou phantom of glory rise from thy Grave where is buried thy fame. O breathe in me, Georgia, the epic And life-giving fires of thy might! Infuse in me strength for the struggle; In pride let my falchion gleam bright. May the bosom that nursed me to manhood Curse and blast me fore'er if I fall. O my heart, that is aching, have courage, Fight on, though in agony's thrall! |
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In haughty pride, though wounded sore, An eagle fought the raven-crow. The bird in desperation strove To rise but fell in frenzied woe. His right wing swept the blood-stained ground; His bosom shone in crimson glow. "Alas! you smite, O ravens wild, When I am wounded, fallen low. Were I not struck, your feathers black Would surely deck the plains below!" |
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Once there bloomed upon a meadow Roses, violets, flow'rs of grace. The gods from urns poured nectared beauty On the meadow's up-turned face. Hanging vines and branches wove Canopies of gold and shade Through which the sky serenely peeped And gentle breezes humming strayed. The bulbul sang of only love; Nature listened in delight — I felt joy rise in my breast; Thrilled at the beauty of the sight. Captivated by the place The morrow found me there again... But alas! the scene was changed And horror petrified my brain. The violets and roses were Lovely; though the bulbul's song Was as musical and sweet, Yet my heart in pain was wrung! Stunned, I saw a sight that made me Wish my seeing eyes were blind... Stagnant vapours and black snakes About the flower stems were twined. |
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Beyond the river dark thou art. Between us rushing waters flow. There is no bridge, no boat have we, Nor wings to cross the river, so, I gaze upon thy smiling face And long to press my lips to thine, Though well I know I ne'er will hold Thee in my arms, O dearest mine! No hope relieves our hopelessness, Nor lights the brooding darkening sky. Delusion makes us bitter smile Through tears that blind the aching eye. Over the rushing waters wild My voice takes wing and towards thee flies, But mingling with the deafening roar In raging depths it swoons and dies. It's heart-corroding to behold The years pass like the stream in sighs... |