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Lorsqu'elle est entrée

Language: French (Français)

Lorsqu'elle est entrée, il m'a semblé
Que le mensonge traînait aux plis de sa jupe;
La lueur de ses grands yeux mentait,
Et dans la musique de sa voix,
Quelque chose d'étranger vibrait.
C'étaient les doux mots que je connais si bien,
Mais ils me faisaient mal et entraient en moi doulouresement.
Qui donc a usé son regard?
Qui donc a fané la rougeur de sa bouche?
D'où vient cette lassitude heureuse
Qui semble avoir brisé son corps
Comme une fleur trop aimée du soleil?
Oh! torturer une à une les veines de son cher corps!
L'anéantir et le consumer, ensevelir sa chair
Dans ma chair, avec la joie amère
De l'impossible pardon!
Tout à l'heure ses mains plus délicates que des fleurs
Se poseront sur mes yeux et tisseront le voile de l'oubli...
Alors mon sang rebattra, les plaies rouges
De mon coeur saigneront, et le sang montera,
Noyant son mensonge,
Et toute ma peine.

Translation(s): ENG

List of language codes

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (T. P. (Peter) Perrin) , title 1: "When she first appeared", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Text added to the website: 2009-12-09.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:02:24
Line count: 22
Word count: 156

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When she first appeared

Language: English after the French (Français)

When she first appeared I felt
deceit was caught in the folds of her skirt;
her large eyes glowed with falsehood;
and in her voice's music sounded
something remote, inhuman.
None but sweet words I know so well,
but which, when I absorb them, are harsh and wounding.
What then has dulled her glance?
What then has faded her mouth's redness?
What is the source of the cherished weariness
that seems to have burned out her body
like a flower too much loved by the sun?
Oh, to torment one by one the channels of her loved body!
To wreck it, devour it, to bury her flesh
in my flesh, know the bitter joy
of no chance of forgiveness.
Soon her hands, more delicate than flowers,
will cover my eyes and weave oblivion's veil . . .
Then my blood will rekindle, my heart's red wounds
will bleed, and my blood rise up
to drown her deceit
and all my sorrow.

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  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2011 by T. P. (Peter) Perrin, (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.


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Based on


Text added to the website: 2011-10-07.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:04:38
Line count: 22
Word count: 161