Aigües de la primavera
que degoten pels jardins,
posades damunt les branques,
les gotes es tornen brins.
Al cor d'una trista fotja
tremolen els cels divins.
S'acuita la neu a fondre's
i baixa torrent endins;
la fressa de les escumes,
com mou el fullam dels pins!
Com sotgen, les flors novelles!
Com dringuen aquests matins!
Al riu de les aigües noves
diuen que hi ha tres remolins:
”L’un molia or i plata,
l’altre perles i robins,
l’altre l’amor de les dames
que captiven els fadrins”.
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Confirmed with Josep Carner, Poesia, Barcelona, Ed. dels Quaderns Crema, 1992, page 396.
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in French (Français), a translation by Henri Collet (1885 - 1951) ; composed by Manuel Blancafort.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Salvador Pila) , "Waters of spring", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- SPA Spanish (Español) (Elisa Rapado) , "Aguas de la primavera", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2020-10-09
Line count: 18
Word count: 85
Waters of spring
that drip in the gardens!
placed on the branches,
the drops become strands.
In the heart of the clear pool
the divine heavens tremble.
All the snow has now melted
and runs into the freshet;
oh, the rustling of the spume
that carries the pine needles!
How the new flowers blossom!
How the mornings tinkle!
By the river of fresh waters
three mills have been placed:
“One milled gold and silver,
another pearls and rubies,
and the third ladies’ love
to enchant young lads”.
