The Sad-Faced Moon Poem by Raphael Patkanian

MOON, fair moon, how long wilt thou appear
So pale, so mournful, in the heavens’ height ?
Have the dark storm-clouds filled thee with alarm,
Or fiery lightnings, flashing through the night ?
There is none like to thee among the stars;
The only beauty of the heavens thou art
Hast thou grown pale with envy ? Nay, O moon,
Thou hast some other secret in thy heart.
Why is thy countenance thus changed and sad?
Speak to me freely ! On the darkest day,
If we but find a sympathizing friend
’T is said that half our grief will pass away.
The mourner is the mourner’s comforter.
Where wilt thou find a sadder man than I,
Forsaken and in sorrow, and, like thee,
Hiding a secret, without word or cry ?
I pass my days in grief, gay among men,
Weeping in solitude ; my salt tears flow,
My sad sighs sound forever, without rest;
I have no sympathizer in my woe.
Yet every living creature has a friend ;
Shall I alone lack love and friendship? Nay,
Open thy heart to me ! If thou art sad,
My sympathy will charm thy grief away.
( The moon speaks.)
Hearken ! One night innumerable stars
Filled the blue sky. Among them, like a bride,
I glided softly, with my bright face veiled.
I passed o’er Pontus, bathing in its tide;
I touched the summits of the Caucasus;
I saw in Lake Sevan my mirrored face;
I came to great Lake Van, of fishes full,
And cooled me in its waves a little space.
O’er many mountains, many fields I passed,
Shedding my light; o’er all reigned silence deep ;
Amid his cattle in the quiet field
The weary farmer lay in peaceful sleep.
Ah, fair Armenia on that night was blest!
The stars of heaven made her more glorious still;
And I, slow passing o’er her through the skies,
Gazed on that land, and could not gaze my fill.
In one short month, my circuit I renewed.
O’er cities, mountains, lakes, I passed in haste,
Longing to visit the Armenian land.
Night had again her fruitful fields embraced ;
But oh ! where were the bounteous harvests now?
Where was the tireless tiller of the soil?
Where was his little thick-necked buffalo?
Where were the gardens, product of his toil ?
Dark smoke had covered the Armenian sky;
Cities and hamlets, burning, crashed and fell;
Fierce tongues of flame reached even to the clouds ;
To see Armenia was to gaze on hell!
Armenia, garden wet with heavenly dew !
Whence came this mighty woe, at whose behest ?
Did jealousy possess his evil heart?
Had in his soul a serpent made its nest?
Yes, it was age-long jealousy and hate,
That, smouldering deep, consume man’s heart away,
Until at last, with fierce and thundering sound,
The hidden fires break forth, to scorch and slay;
Like to a mountain, still and calm without,
On which the smooth snow all unmelted sleeps;
Suddenly, lightnings from its breast are born,
And o’er whole cities fiery ruin sweeps.
O fair Armenian land! Armenian race !
O happy places, ruined now and void !
Hamlets and cornfields, cloisters, teeming towns!
Where are you ? Why were you so soon destroyed?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The moon was silent. And the dark clouds came
And hid the sky ; she passed behind a cloud;
And I was left alone and sorrowful,
Musing with folded arms and forehead bowed.
And ever since that time, when evening comes,
I wait the pale moon’s rising, calm and slow;
And as I gaze upon her mournful face,
I think upon my nation and its woe.