To A Chonguri
Your strains of woe - a mournful flow-
by Nikoloz Baratashvili
At times they groan, at times they moan;
Each throb recalls the vanished hour and bids the soul to thought!
Oh! Chonguri! if ever your voice
Would flood my ear with murmuring joys,
And soothe the heart that sorrows sway and turn its tears away!
Where can I find your smile so fair,
Adorned with joy and beauty rare?
I hear but sobs that anguish feeds, hurled from a heart that bleeds!