The Nightingale beheld and said: “Thank Heaven!
Blessing and praise from every mouth be breathed;
To Heaven’s King be endless glory given—
For in her bud I saw the Rose ensheathed!”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Foolish Aghtamartzi, beware this bane,
For this world’s love is ever linked with thorn;
A little while ’tis gladness, then ’tis pain—
What boots the joy which needs must make us mourn?