IN MEMORIAM OF VARTAN LUTFIAN.
31
Thy paleness grieved my soul; thy last faint look,
Turned on me ere thy spirit did depart,
Has fixed forevermore, O friend beloved,
The memory of thee in my aching heart.
Turned on me ere thy spirit did depart,
Has fixed forevermore, O friend beloved,
The memory of thee in my aching heart.
Oh, art thou happy or unhappy there?
Send me a message by an angel's wing!
Tedious, alas! and weary is this world,
Mother of griefs and bitter sorrowing.
Send me a message by an angel's wing!
Tedious, alas! and weary is this world,
Mother of griefs and bitter sorrowing.
If in that world there is a shady tree.
And a clear brook that softly murmurs near;
If there are found affection and pure love,
If the soul breathes a free, fresh atmosphere—
And a clear brook that softly murmurs near;
If there are found affection and pure love,
If the soul breathes a free, fresh atmosphere—
This very day would I put off this life,
This poor soiled garment should to dust return.
Ah, Vartan, answer! In the unknown land,
Say, hast thou found the things for which I yearn?
This poor soiled garment should to dust return.
Ah, Vartan, answer! In the unknown land,
Say, hast thou found the things for which I yearn?
