In passion there is raging of the storm,
In quietude, the beauty of the form,
O fair woman, though weary I may be,
You will be there making love to me.
In sadness of gray days and lonely nights
I’ll see the trembling of that candle light
That plays along your hair,
My love so fair,
You walk through thickets, meadows, shrubs and trees,
You walk across the oceans and the seas,
And I, upon this hill, bent at my knees,
Will gaze upon the stars,
While from afar
You’ll radiate at night
That soft, enchanting light—
O woman dressed like moon!

                                                 April 24, 1988
                                              --Alexander Shaumyan