Love's fire is such, ’twill not consume--’twill burn, and burn, and ever burn:
If in that sea of flame I fall to cool me thou wilt never turn.
Alas, how shall the minstrel bear thy lightning gleams that pierce his heart?
No pact or treaty wilt thou make--a monarch absolute thou art.
If thou dost meet with mountains high like wax thou meltest them away;
If cities fair lie on thy path, their pride in ruins thou dost lay.
In sooth, no compact wilt thou make with him who sings these strains to thee:
Sayat Nova no credit hath when he would tell his pains to thee.