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À la fleur près d'éclore J'ai dit: pourquoi t'ouvrir? La bise souffle encore, Et te fera mourir! Pauvre fou! me dit-elle, Sens-tu ces chauds rayons? Déjà les papillons M'effleurent de leur aile. Je me meurs de langueur! Il fait froid dans mon coeur. Il fait froid dans mon coeur. J'ai dit à l'alouette: Pourquoi ces chants joyeux? Pourquoi, vive et fluette, Tournoyer dans les cieux? Pauvre fou! me dit-elle, C'est l'heure de chanter! Ne vois-tu pas monter La lumière nouvelle? Je me meurs... Je suis plein de tristesse; Je ne vis qu'à moitié, Et malgré ma jeunesse Les vieux m'ont en pitié. Un regard de ma belle M'aurait seul exaucé! Tout sans elle est glacé; Tout est sombre sans elle! Elle me tient rigueur; J'ai la mort dans le coeur.
- by Michel Carré (1822 - 1872), as Louis Fonteille [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Félicien César David (1810 - 1876), "Plainte amoureuse", 1866?, published 1866 [medium voice and piano], Éd. E. Gérard [ sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "The lover's complaint", copyright © 2000, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
I asked the ripening bud, "Why open now? The cold winds are still blowing and will kill you." "Poor fool," she said, "Do you feel these warm rays? The butterflies are already caressing me with their wings." I'm dying of melancholy. My heart is cold. My heart is cold. I asked the lark, "Why these happy songs? Why these lively, fluid pirouettes in the sky?" "Poor fool," she replied, "It's time to sing! Don't you see the new light rising?" I'm dying of melancholy. I am full of sorrow. I'm only half-alive, and though I am young, the old pity me. A glance from my darling is the only thing that would have saved me. Without her, everything is icy and dark. She is angry with me. My heart is full of death.
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.