| The wood is decked in light green leaf. The swallow twitters in delight. The lonely vine sheds joyous tears Of interwoven dew and light. Spring weaves a gown of green to clad The mountain height and wide-spread field. O when wilt thou, my native land, In all thy glory stand revealed? |
The wood is clothed in leaf? The swallow twitters again, In the garden the solitary vinestem Weeps with excess of joy. The mead is in bloom, The mountains blossom, O beloved fatherland Why dost thou not bloom? Ilia Chavchavadze Works Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops Ganatleba Publishers Tbilisi 1987 |