Page:Armenian poems, rendered into English verse (IA armenianpoemsren00blaciala).pdf/29

But she drew near me, and I heard
A whisper soft and low:
"Thy lyre is a cold heart," she said,
"Thy love is only woe."

My spirit recognized her then;
She beauty was, and fire,
Pure as the stream, kind as the breeze,
And faithful as the lyre.

My soul, that from the path had erred,
Spread wide its wings to soar,
And bade the life of solitude
Farewell forevermore.

A galaxy of glances bright,
A sweet bouquet of smiles,
A crucible of melting words
Bewitched me with their wiles!