Classic Poem

O SWALLOW , gentle swallow,
Thou lovely bird of spring!
Say, whither art thou flying
So swift on gleaming wing?

Fly to my birthplace, Ashdarag,
The spot I love the best;
Beneath my father's roof-tree,
O swallow, build thy nest.

There dwells afar my father,
A mournful man and gray,
Who for his only son's return
Waits vainly, day by day.

If thou shouldst chance to see him,
Greet him with love from me;
Bid him sit down and mourn with tears
His son's sad destiny.

In poverty and loneliness,
Tell him, my days are passed:
My life is only half a life,
My tears are falling fast.

To me, amid bright daylight,
The sun is dark at noon;
To my wet eyes at midnight
Sleep comes not, late or soon.

Tell him that, like a beauteous flower
Smit by a cruel doom,
Uprooted from my native soil,
I wither ere my bloom.

Fly on swift wing, dear swallow,
Across the quickening earth,
And seek in fair Armenia
The village of my birth!