Since I die of love

Sunday, 23 November 2014

Love, with these thy whims and humours thou hast wrecked and ruined me.
Thou hast drunk of love's own nectar, thy lips speak entrancingly.
With those honeyed words how many like me thou hast bound to thee!
Take the knife and slay me straightway--pass not by me mockingly.
Since I die of love, ’twere better Beauty stabbed and set me free.-Sayat Nova



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