SPRINGByHOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN(Born1869)None await thy smiling rays;Whither comest thou, O Spring?None are left to sing thy praise—Vain thy coming now, O Spring!All the world is wrapped in gloom,Earth in blood is weltering:This year brought us blackest doom—Whither comest thou, O Spring?No rose for the nightingale,No flower within park or dale,Every face with anguish pale—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
SPRINGByHOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN(Born1869)None await thy smiling rays;Whither comest thou, O Spring?None are left to sing thy praise—Vain thy coming now, O Spring!All the world is wrapped in gloom,Earth in blood is weltering:This year brought us blackest doom—Whither comest thou, O Spring?No rose for the nightingale,No flower within park or dale,Every face with anguish pale—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
SPRING
ByHOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN(Born1869)None await thy smiling rays;Whither comest thou, O Spring?None are left to sing thy praise—Vain thy coming now, O Spring!All the world is wrapped in gloom,Earth in blood is weltering:This year brought us blackest doom—Whither comest thou, O Spring?No rose for the nightingale,No flower within park or dale,Every face with anguish pale—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
ByHOVHANNES HOVHANNESSIAN
(Born1869)
None await thy smiling rays;Whither comest thou, O Spring?None are left to sing thy praise—Vain thy coming now, O Spring!All the world is wrapped in gloom,Earth in blood is weltering:This year brought us blackest doom—Whither comest thou, O Spring?No rose for the nightingale,No flower within park or dale,Every face with anguish pale—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
None await thy smiling rays;Whither comest thou, O Spring?None are left to sing thy praise—Vain thy coming now, O Spring!
None await thy smiling rays;
Whither comest thou, O Spring?
None are left to sing thy praise—
Vain thy coming now, O Spring!
All the world is wrapped in gloom,Earth in blood is weltering:This year brought us blackest doom—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
All the world is wrapped in gloom,
Earth in blood is weltering:
This year brought us blackest doom—
Whither comest thou, O Spring?
No rose for the nightingale,No flower within park or dale,Every face with anguish pale—Whither comest thou, O Spring?
No rose for the nightingale,
No flower within park or dale,
Every face with anguish pale—
Whither comest thou, O Spring?