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Chanson, voici le jour Ou celle la qui la terre decore, Et que mon oeil idolatre, & adore, Vint en ce beau sejour. Le ciel d'amour ataint Ardant de voir tant de beautés l'admire, Et se courbant desus sa face, mire Tout l'honneur de son taint. Car les divins flambeaus, Grandeur, vertu, les amours, & les graces Lui firent don quand ell'vint en ces places De leurs presens plus beaus, Affin que par ses yeus Tout l'imparfait de ma jeunesse folle Fust corrigé, & qu'elle fust l'idole Pour m'avoier au mieus. Heureus jour retourné, A tout jamais j'aurai de toi memoire, Et d'an, en an, je chanterai la gloire De l'honneur en toi né. Sus page vistement Donne ma lire, affin que sur sa chorde D'un pouce dous je marie & accorde Ce beau jour sainctement. Sème par la maison Tout le tresor des prez & de la pleine, Le lis, la rose, & cela dond est pleine La nouvelle saison : Et crie au temple aussi, Que le soleil ne vit oncques journée Qui fust de gloire, & d'honneur tant ornée Comme il voit ceste ci.
- by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585) [author's text checked 1 time 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 Théodore Gouvy (1819 - 1898), "Chanson, voici le jour", published 1876 [voice and piano], from 40 Poèmes de Ronsard, no. 26, Paris : Richault [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , "My song, today's the day", copyright © 2012, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
My song, today's the day When she who adorns the world And whom my eye worships and adores Came to stay in this lovely place. The sky suffering from love Burning to see such beauty, wonders at her, And bowing before her face, admires All the distinction of her complexion. For the sacred torches of Grandeur, valour, love and the graces Made her a gift, when she came to this place, Of their finer presence. So that by her eyes All the imperfections of my foolish youth Were mended, and she was the object of worship To bind me to better things. Fortunate day that has returned Forever I will have the memory of you And from year to year I will sing the glory Of the distinction born in you. Up, page, and quickly Give me my lyre so that on its strings With a soft touch I can join notes and make harmonies for This lovely day in holy fashion. Sow through the house All the treasure of the meadows and the plain The lily, the rose and everything with which The new season is filled. And pray at the temple too That the sun will never see another day So bejewelled with glory and honour As when it saw this one.
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2012 by David Wyatt, (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.