Were not the rose’s hue like that which glows
On her soft cheek, who would esteem the rose?
Were not the tints of heaven like those that lie
In her blue eyes, whose gaze would seek the sky?
Were not the maiden innocent and fair,
How would men learn to turn to God in prayer?
Bedros Tourian (1851 - 1872) Armenia
Translated by Alice Stone Blackwell
Source: Armenian House.org
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