Antsrevnou sere
ANTSREVE KALIS MOUTNE DARADZVOUM.
LROUTYOUNE LOUR ZIRENKE TIDOUM.
PAYTZ NOKKA INCHOU LOUR OU MOUNCH GANKNADZ.
ARTIOK SIRADZEN YEV CHEN HACHOGHADZ.
AHA SHIGAHER MI POKRIG AGCHIG.
KROUZ MZERNER OUSERIN TAPADZ.
TAKHTZOD ACHEROV NAYOUMER ARACH.
IR SERNER PNDROUM HEROUN GORSEVADZ.
DEGHANER SIROUN ACHEROVE NAYOUM.
IR SIRADZNER AN TER VORONOUM.
GANKNADZER TESHVAR OU KHEHGJOUG TSEVOV.
OUZOUMER VERATARTSN IR DEKHOUR SIRO.
ANTSREVE ZAYRATZVETS OU PECHETZ KAMIN.
AMBERE OUJKIN ZARGIN TEV TEVI.
PAYTS TER GANKNADZEN YERGOU SIRADZNER.
NAYOUMEN IRAR ANEGH OU ANVERCH.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Related quotes
Kidem El Chegas
Im hokine tartsel mer teshvar seren pladag mi averag.
Achersen mishd latsver ayt orits yerp ko sere im gianke kaghtets.
Areve im ashkharoum yerpek che dzakets.
Moute badets im merg orere.
Jamanage hon tatretz yev vargianere arants kez im ser tartsan tarer, dekhour yev yergar anverch jampaner.
Jebide kaghtetz, khavare badets im kheghj ashkhare kalousded espasets.
Arants ko siro inch garje gianke.
Yerp tou chgas, yerp tou gekas? kidem el ches kar.
Ayn orits yerp tou im gianke kaghtetsir, ko sere gabre khore im serdin.
teghouz kez hamar yes linem vochinch.
Im serner angeghdz, yev anverch gabre khore im serdin.
Gardzoumeyi te sere aboush mi khaghe.
Jermag mi soude.
Yev yerp khaghe tatre sere g mare.
Payts yerp kaz siretsi.
mornal chanatsi.
Im antse mortsa payts kez che moratsa.
Arten yergar darineren antser.mer sere mi houshe tartsel.
Payts ko sere im serdoum pouyne shinel.
payts kidem el chgas, kidem el ches kar.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Odaren Odar Harazadnou Odar
menag em im ashkharoum el chounem siradz.
teshvar im ashkharoum chounem vosge pakhd.
hokis e hoknadz al g hegega.
im giankn e tadarg mout anabad.
menag em menag ashkhares e tadarg, hanterts polor martots harazad odar.
jebide kaghtets vaghouts im hokin.
takhidze badets teshvar im giankin.
tavajan serer yelan im jampin.
sere vaghouts toghets im hokin.
im siradznere mashetsin im hokin.
arants siro el inch garje abril.
siro oughinerneyin pladag khavar.
im gianki tsourd janabarhin avagh te hantibetsi ankout serderi.
im serner mishd harazad yev ansahman.
payts avagh te sere mishd yeghav indz hamar tavajan.
tegouz yes chounem vosge hakousdner.
giankes e teshvar neman potorgod tsmra.
mishd angeghdz serner im giankin miag yeraz.
payts sere indz hamar mishd yeghav soud yev tavjan.
im ashkharne menag tegouz khejoghvadz, odaren odar harazadn ou odar.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Tou Im Ser
IM SERNER KEZ HAVIDIAN.
YERPEK CHE GRTSAV ELLAL KO SIRO TAVAJAN.
IM SIRDNER KO SIRO DAJAR.
PAYTS TOU YEGHAR MER PAJANMAN BADJAR.
DZOVEROU KHOROUTIAMP KHOR IM SIRO TU JEGHAR TAVAJAN.
KO SERNER TANG OU TAKOUN, INDZ HAMAR ER IM GIANKEN TANG.
KHEGHJ IM SERDIN TOU EYIR MIAG HOUYSN OU LOUYSE.
AREVNEYIR IM POTORGOD TSMRAN.
KO KAYLEROU HED G VAZER IM HOKIN MANOUG.
MISHD KO JAMPAN ESPASETSI, ARDASVETSIN ACHERES TATS.
AVAGH TE MER SERE KEZ HAMAR ANTSIALER ARTEN TARTARTSAS.
YEV CHEGAR MEZ HAMAR TARTSIAL VERATARTS.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Koutse Vochinch
PAREV DAREK IM YARIN.
ASEK GARODEM NERAN ANOUSH JEBIDIN.
ASEK ASHKHARES TADARG E ARANTS NERAN TAKOUN ACHERIN.
TEGOUZ MER SIRO POTSE VAGHOUTSE MAREL.
IR SERDOUM IM SERE MOKHIRE TARTSEL.
PAYTS IR SERE IM SERDI MECH HAVIDIAN GABRE.
AMEN ARAVOD LOUYSIN HED NORITS GIANK GARNE.
TEGOUZ IM SERE IR SERDI MECH TARTSELE MI HOUSH.
YEV KOUTSE VOCHINCH.
MIAYN HARTSOUTSEK OVKEREN SHOYOUM IR PAPOUG HOKIN.
OVE DIRATSEL IM SIRO OJAKHIN.
VORKANEM GAROD IR DAKOUG KERGIN.
MANGA M NEMAN GAROD MOR KERGIN.
IM MIAG ABASDANER OU HON ABAHOV HOKIS G NENCHER.
YERP INDZ G KERGER SIRO KHOSKER GASER.
HOKIS AYLAYLDZ MER SERE GERKER.
ASHKHARE IMNER.
IR SERE IM KANTSNER.
IM HAYRENIKNER.
ARTIOK OVKEREN IM HAYRENIKE KERAVEL.
YETE VOR LSEK YERPEK INDZ CHASEK.
YERGAR DARINER EN ARTEN ANTSEL.
PAYTS IM ACHERES ARTSOUNKE YERPEK CHE TATRETS.
YES IM ANTSNEM MORATSEL.
HOKIS E MOKHIR TARTSEL.
PAYTS IR SIRO DEKHOUR HISHADAGE HOKVOUS MECH HAVIDIAN GABRE
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Song for Ballyheigue
County Kerry, Ireland
Twig fire limn
eight fairy
in a lour cave mouth
Four of whom
a tabor thrum
Four of whom
breathe zephyr
through wee fife
All of whom
leap star,
the joy of life
All of whom
sing lark,
the yet to come
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Crazy Jane On The Day Of Judgment
'Love is all
Unsatisfied
That cannot take the whole
Body and soul';
And that is what Jane said.
'Take the sour
If you take me
I can scoff and lour
And scold for an hour.'
"That's certainly the case,' said he.
'Naked I lay,
The grass my bed;
Naked and hidden away,
That black day';
And that is what Jane said.
'What can be shown?
What true love be?
All could be known or shown
If Time were but gone.'
'That's certainly the case,' said he.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against my self with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon my self with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind:
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Muwuno (Javanese)
(Matsnawi, Kitab kaping gangsal 65-149)
Amarganing mego muwun, tetamaning sari mapaes
Amarganing muwunipun tetimur, pangudi wentah ngalir
Ing wancinipun tetimur mangertos, ngudakara
"Kawulo muwun amrih kinasih rumekso"
Lamun siro mangertoso bilih sang Kinasih jeng binothoro?
Mboten apeparing bilih sang timur tan amemuwun
Gusti angendiko, "Tansah muwuno"
Mirengno, pangudi wentah tansah ngaliri tetamaning sari
Tangisaning mego lan panasing srengenge
Pakuning bawono, hanyengkuyung kekalihe
Bilih sirnoning mego muwun lan srengenge panas
Kadyo pundi sakabehing rumekso
Kadyo pundi musim agegantos rasukan?
Bilih suryaning tangis kapedhot lan lingsir
Suryo ingkang ngobong lan mego ingkang muwun
Wohing gesang makantar-kantar
Sumelehno grahitoning siro awu kaobong
Den jeng netro ngalirke bening toya
Muwuno kadya lare alit, lamun siro dhahar roti siro
amargo roti rogo siro ngendhataken beningipun sukmo
Nalikaning rogo siro subur ron tetuwuhan
Dalunipun sukmo ngguguraken layuning ron
Suburing rogo injih kerontangipun sukmo
Cecaketa-ngguguraken rogo tuwuhaken sukmo
Silihno Gusti, silihono suburing rogomu
Tukerno mring taman sari kapaes sukmo
Aturno, sudanen panganan rogo siro
Tan gumilang suryo sukmo siro makantar-kantar
Naliko rogo ngedalaken sedoyo ingkang kotor
Gusti nglintokake sedoyo wewangian
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Scots Wha' Hae
Scots, wha' hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has often led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's pow'r
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurper low!
Tyrants fall in ev'ry foe!
Liberty's in ev'ry blow!
Let us do or die!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Robert Bruce's March To Bannockburn
Scots, what hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland's King and Law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa',
Let him on wi' me!
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We sill drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die!
poem by Robert Burns
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Scots Wha Hae
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front of battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor's knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha's sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's King and Law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do, or die!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Scots, Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour,
See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slavery!
Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa',
Let him follow me!
By oppression's woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in ev'ry foe!
Liberty's in ev'ry blow!
Let us do or die!
poem by Robert Burns
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Sonnet XLI: Yes, I Will Go
Yes, I will go, where circling whirlwinds rise,
Where threat'ning clouds in sable grandeur lour;
Where the blast yells, the liquid columns pour,
And madd'ning billows combat with the skies!
There, while the Daemon of the tempest flies
On growing pinions through the troublous hour,
The wild waves gasp impatient to devour,
And on the rock the waken'd Vulture cries!
Oh! dreadful solace to the stormy mind!
To me, more pleasing than the valley's rest,
The woodland songsters, or the sportive kind,
That nip the turf, or prune the painted crest;
For in despair alone, the wretched find
That unction sweet, which lulls the bleeding breast!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Sonnet XXVI: Where Antique Woods
Where antique woods o'er-hang the mountains's crest,
And mid-day glooms in solemn silence lour;
Philosophy, go seek a lonely bow'r,
And waste life's fervid noon in fancied rest.
Go, where the bird of sorrow weaves her nest,
Cooing, in sadness sweet, through night's dim hour;
Go, cull the dew-drops from each potent flow'r
That med'cines to the cold and reas'ning breast!
Go, where the brook in liquid lapse steals by,
Scarce heard amid'st the mingling echoes round,
What time, the noon fades slowly down the sky,
And slumb'ring zephyrs moan, in caverns bound:
Be these thy pleasures, dull Philosophy!
Nor vaunt the balm, to heal a lover's wound.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Yette Tou Kas
Yette tou kas
Mergatsadz bardeznere norits bidi haknen ganatch
Ah yette tou kas
Mortsvadz hekyatneri herosnere norits bidi kan ashkhark
Ah yette tou kas
Dkhour im yerkeri parere bidi pokhen irents jampan tegouz norits zvarj tarnan
Ah yette tou kas
Ankout martotz hokinerou nnchadz khghjeere bidi zartnen kalen arach
Yette tou kas
Mout poghotsneri odar esdvernere bidi tarnan shad harazad
Ah yette tou kas
Vorpoug manougnerei khapanadz jbidnere tartsyal hayrenik bidi tarnan
Ah yette tou kas
Skavor srdere bidi pokhen irents sev eskestnere bidi prnen bar
Ah yette tou kas
Hoknadz hokvouys moloradz houysere khaghaghoutyoun bidi kdnen
Ah yette tou kas
Dkhour I'm serdi arouynlva artsounknere bidi tatrin yar
Ah ytte tou kas
Soud angadar serderou mech porpokadz khosdoumnere tegouz iraganan
Ah yette tou kas
Moloradz im hokvou pats verkere tegouz poujvin houysere norits tarnan indz harazad
Ah payts el tou chegas arten tadarge indz hamar polor askhar yar.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Bereavement
How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To The Right Honourable The Lady Sarah Cowper.
Let me the Honour soon obtain,
For which I long have hop'd in vain;
Since I, alas! am now confin'd,
Your Visit would be doubly kind.
What Sorrows have I not to fear,
Ty'd to the Bed of Sickness here?
When all that's human, quits the Place,
And Winter shews his horrid Face;
Whilst Desolation proudly stalks
Along the dull, deserted Walks.
Methinks the Skies already lour;
Loud, from the Hills, the Torrents pour;
The Shops are shut; the Days are dark;
And scarce a Dog is left to bark.
O, shield me from the dreadful Storms,
Which my distemper'd Fancy forms!
The thoughtless Fair the Toilet prize,
There practise Smiles, and point their Eyes:
But Cowper, negligent of Art,
Chose, early wise, the better Part.
Yet from your Mind some Moments spare;
The Stranger be a--while your Care,
Who now beneath Affliction bends,
Far from her Country, and her Friends.
Come, and my anxious Heart relieve:
For in your Presence who could grieve?
poem by Mary Barber
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Fortune Smiles
Fortune smiles, cry holiday,
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Fortune frowns, cry welladay,
Her love is heaven, her hate is hell:
Since heaven and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lour,
Since heaven and hell her power obey,
When she smiles, cry holiday.
Holiday with joy we cry
And bend, and bend and merrily,
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity,
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity.
Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,
With our song let heaven resound,
Fortune's hands our heads have crown'd,
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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Flu
If I could but linger all day in bed
drinking tea and medicinal whiskey
no more than is good take sudafed
and capture great sneezes in clean, white linen handkies
gorge my cold like a robin her brood
on broth stewn with bits of chicken
or curd with honey drizzle, that preferred
on shivery, brief trips to the kitchen
scratch in the tablet of the frosted pane
as my fingertip goes numb
some couplet of Ovids' or Verlaines'
that straightway dissolves and down the window runs
then climb to the parapet of my pillow again
browse travelogues and dream
of the beaches of Carossal or plage de Saline
I should be the happiest of men.
But I can't so I rise like Lazarus
reluctant to be summoned from the dead
thick with the afflictions of my flux
and irked to have to go to work instead;
spread bed sheets out all wet with sweat
command myself to the shower
(how warm it seems for how cold it was)
and reach for the door with a lour.
But neither is the flu a malingerer
for dressed and waiting at the door
as I leave, with its flies eyes and its mentholator
it coughs-and we descend the stairs together.
poem by Robert Dickerson
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The Spring
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
poem by Thomas Carew
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