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VIOLET ON THE MOUNTAIN<br />
— Lisim dalaleo.<br />
The line moves up, the line moves down<br />
— Oh, how lovely you are;<br />
Form a ring, and follow round<br />
— Oh, how lovely you are.<br />
Liso, Liso, so the wind sings<br />
— Lisim dalaleo;<br />
The peregrine falcon spreads its wings<br />
— Lisim dalaleo.<br />
Funerary Poems<br />
Dead from poison<br />
Where are they summoning the mourners?<br />
Where are the womenfolk gathering?<br />
She did not come on Thursday night;<br />
Yesterday evening the moon went down.<br />
She has been carried off to heaven,<br />
A woman as low as can be.<br />
Higher and higher, the cord winding up,<br />
Up where the young people are.<br />
Women slaughtered by the plague<br />
Women slaughtered by the plague,<br />
Didn’t you go to Kvishisa?<br />
At Ch’ishvel did you see them all?<br />
Weren’t they mowing hay at Ch’ishvel?<br />
Didn’t their sickles gleam in the sun?<br />
Weren’t they calling out the song?<br />
Woe betide the matchmaker<br />
Woe betide the matchmaker<br />
Who set up my marriage in Khoshara;<br />
I cannot live there anymore . . .<br />
I can no longer eat barley bread,<br />
I am accustomed to unhulled grain;<br />
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