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J'aurais pu dire mon Amour Tout haut Dans le grand jour Ardent et chaud Du bel été roux qui l'exalte et l'enivre Et le dresse debout avec un rire À tout écho! J'aurais pu dire: Mon amour est heureux, voyez Son manteau de pourpre qui traîne Jusqu'à ses pieds! Ses mains sont pleines De roses qu'il effeuille et qui parfume l'air; Le ciel est clair Sur sa maison de marbre tiède Et blanc et veiné comme une chair Douce aux lèvres . . . Mais non, Je l'ai vêtu de bure et de laine; Son manteau traîne Sur ses talons; Il passe en souriant à peine Et quand il chante c'est si bas Que l'on ne se retourne pas Pour cueillir sa chanson éclose Dans le soir qu'elle a parfumé; Il n'a ni jardin ni maison, Et il fait semblant d'être pauvre Pour mieux cacher qu'il est aimé.
Text Authorship:
- by Henri Francois-Joseph de Régnier (1864 - 1936), "Odelette", appears in Les Médailles d'Argile, in 6. À travers l'an, no. 10, first published 1921 [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 Albert Roussel (1869 - 1937), "Odelette", op. 8 (Quatre poèmes) no. 4 (1907), published 1921, first performed 1908 [ high voice and piano ], Éd. Rouart, Lerolle [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Meredith Achey) , "Little ode", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Geoffrey Wieting
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 29
Word count: 148
I could have proclaimed my Love Right out loud In the great day Ardent and hot Of the beautiful red-headed summer that exalts it and intoxicates it And holds it up with a laugh Echoing everywhere! I could have said: My love is happy, see Its purple coat that falls All the way to its feet! Its hands are full Of roses which bloom and perfume the air; The sky is clear Over its warm marble house And white and veined like flesh Sweet to the lips... But no, I dressed it in homespun and wool; Its coat drags Over its heels; It passes, barely smiling, And when it sings, it's so quiet That no one turns To gather its blooming song In the evening, which [the song] perfumes; It has neither a garden nor a home, And it pretends to be poor Better to hide that it is loved.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2011 by Meredith Achey, (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 Henri Francois-Joseph de Régnier (1864 - 1936), "Odelette", appears in Les Médailles d'Argile, in 6. À travers l'an, no. 10, first published 1921
This text was added to the website: 2011-06-20
Line count: 29
Word count: 150