Hayasdan

Your name so sweet,
Your name so high,
My tormented,
Yet glorious one!
Among old ones, you are gray-haired,
Among new ones, new and youthful;
You, the vineyard of rows of grapes,
You, sand yet with water sorrows;
You, a willow of many leaves,
Oleaster spread on the brook,
You, half-ruined fortress, castle,
You, paper of old manuscripts;
You, Zvartnots, ruined temple,
Apricot tree of Gomidas;
You, watermill in deep valley,
You, also sweet and running well,
Gleam of plough and silver coulter;
You, bow, arrow, and a crude lance,
You, the smoke of our homes' chimneys,
You, unwritten novel and you, a devious one out of Sassoon...!

My glorious one,
My tormented,
Your name so high,
Your name so sweet!
You, the storehouse of many fruits,
You, cellar of gold-flowing wine,
You, velvet peach, you bubbling bread,
You, black-eyed grapes from Ardashad;
You, Lake Sevan's shining billow,
You, chapiter and the pillar of Yerevan;
You, an abode, calling lighthouse,
You, Armenian banner and flag,
Speaking witness of genocide,
And clear eye of weeping which dried;
Formidable court of justice,
The sheath of sword,
The book of love -
Always ancient and yet always new Hayasdan.