by
Jean Richepin (1849 - 1926)
Sonnet d'automne
Language: French (Français)
Available translation(s): ENG ITA
Ah ! l'automne vient aux amours comme aux années !
On a beau n'y pas croire et ne l'attendre pas,
La navrante saison arrive pas à pas
Et se fait un bouquet de nos heures [glanées]1.
Dans sa robe flottante aux nuances fanées,
Faite de velours rouge et de rouge lampas,
Sa chair de fruits trop mûrs garde encor des appas ;
Mais sa bouche a l'odeur des pâles solanées.
Ses grands yeux sont brouillés comme un ciel orageux.
Orgueilleuse, méchante et folle, elle a pour jeux
De tuer les oiseaux et d'arracher les feuilles.
Ô mauvaise saison, semeuse de remords,
Te voilà donc ! Bientôt, pour peu que tu le veuilles,
Tous mes bois seront nus et tous mes oiseaux morts.
View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with Les caresses, Nouvelle Édition, Paris, G. Charpentier, [no date], pages 147-148.
1 misprinted as "glacées" (frozen) in Lemoine's edition. Vierne's manuscript orchestral score (located in the Bibliothèque nationale, Paris) shows "glanées".
Authorship:
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 (Corinne Orde) , title 1: "Autumn Sonnet", copyright © 2007, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Francesco Campanella) , title 1: "Sonetto d' autunno", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Corinne Orde
This text was added to the website: 2007-11-23
Line count: 14
Word count: 122
Sonetto d' autunno
Language: Italian (Italiano)  after the French (Français)
Ah! l'autunno viene agli amori ed anche agli anni!
Si ha un bel non crederci e non attenderlo,
La straziante stagione giunge passo dopo passo
E fa un mazzo delle nostre ghiacciate ore.
Nella sua veste fluttuante di sfumature appassite,
Fatta di velluto rosso e di seta rossa.
La sua carne, frutti troppo maturi, conserva ancora delle grazie;
Ma la sua bocca ha l'odore di pallide solanacee.
I suoi grandi occhi sono annebbiati come un cielo tempestoso.
Orgoglioso, malvagio e folle, si diletta
Ad uccidere uccelli e a far cadere le foglie.
O cattiva stagione, seminatrice di rimorsi,
Eccoti dunque! Presto, per quanto poco tu lo possa desiderare,
Tutti i miei boschi saranno nudi e tutti i miei uccelli morti.
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2013 by Francesco Campanella, (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:
- a text in French (Français) by Jean Richepin (1849 - 1926), "Sonnet d'automne", written 1877, appears in Les Caresses, in 3. Brumaire, no. 1, Paris, Éd. M. Dreyfous, first published 1882
This text was added to the website: 2013-09-02
Line count: 14
Word count: 120