Nikoloz Baratashvili Poems

The azure blue, the heavenly hue,
The first created realm of blue;
And over its radiance divine
My soul does pour its love sublime.
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It runs; it flies; it bears me on; it heeds no trail nor spoor;
A raven black behind me croaks with ominous eyes of doom;
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In sadness wrapped, I strolled along where the waters hum and fret;
I longed to rest in solitude and all my cares forget.
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Let none bewail the bitterness of orphancy,
Nor weep if destitute of friend or kin is he,
But pity him whose soul's bereaved by ruthless fate;
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An aloe stands in solitude upon a lofty precipice;
The sunbeams mingling with the shades the myriad boughs caress and kits.
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Napoleon looked upon France and said:
'What is the result of reign of mine?'
And seeing his glory shed,
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O Evil Spirit! You fiend of hell! who bade you be my guide,
To storm my life, to burn my brain and every joy to hide?
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Your strains of woe - a mournful flow-
At times they groan, at times they moan;
Each throb recalls the vanished hour and bids the soul to thought!
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O Mtatsminda ! Thou Holy Mount ! the sight does haunt
The soul to thought - a place that wilderness has wrought
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As a butterfly
so slowly ripples
a spotless lily of exquisite curves,
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