Poems of Ronsard

Translations © by Peter Low

Song Cycle by Francis Poulenc (1899 - 1963)

View original-language texts alone: Poèmes de Ronsard

1. Attributs
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Les épis sont à Cérès,
Aux Dieux bouquins les forêts,
À Chlore l'herbe nouvelle,
À Phoebus le vert laurier,
À Minerve l'olivier,
Et le beau pin à Cybèle ;
Au Zéphires le doux bruit,
À Pomone le doux fruit,
L'onde aux Nymphes est sacrée,
À Flore les belles fleurs ;
Mais les soucis et les pleurs
Sont sacrés à Cythèrée.

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by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
1. Attributes
Language: English 
Ears of corn are sacred to Ceres,
forests to the Fauns,
new grass to Chloris,
green laurels to Phoebus,
olive-trees to Minerva,
handsome pines to Cybele,
gentle rustlings to the Zephyrs,
sweet fruit to Pomona,
waters to the Nymphs,
and beautiful flowers to Flora;
but heart-ache and tears
are sacred to Aphrodite.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Peter Low, (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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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 12
Word count: 52

Translation © by Peter Low
2. Le Tombeau
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Quand le ciel et mon heure
jugeront que je meure,
ravi du beau séjour
        du commun jour,
je défends qu'on ne rompe
le marbre pour la pompe
de vouloir mon tombeau
        bâtir plus beau,
mais bien je veux qu'un arbre
m'ombrage en lieu d'un marbre,
arbre qui soit couvert
        tojours de vert.
De moi puisse la terre
engendrer un lierre
m'embrassant en maint tour
        tout à l'entour;
et la vigne tortisse
mon sépulcre embellisse,
Faisant de toutes parts
        un ombre épars.

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by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
2. The tomb
Language: English 
 When Heaven and my appointed time
 decide that I should die
 and be carried off from the fair abode
         of common daylight,
 I forbid that marble
 be cut for the pompous purpose
 of having my tomb
         built more beautiful.
 I wish rather that a tree
 might shade me instead of marble -
 a tree that would be always
         covered in green foliage.
 From my body may the earth
 bring forth an ivy-plant
 embracing me all round
         with many turns;
 and may the twisty vine
 embellish my burial-place,
 creating in all directions
         extended shade.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Peter Low, (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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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 98

Translation © by Peter Low
3. Ballet
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Le soir qu'Amour vous fit en la salle descendre
Pour danser d'artifice un beau ballet d'amour,
Vos yeux, bien qu'il fût nuit, ramenèrent le jour,
Tant ils surent d'éclairs par la place répandre.

Le ballet fut divin, qui se soulait reprendre,
Se rompre, se refaire et, tour dessus retour,
Se mêler, s'écarter, se tourner à l'entour,
Contre-imitant le cours du fleuve de Méandre.

Ores il était rond, ores long, or' étroit,
Or en pointe, en triangle, en la façon qu'on voit
L'escadron de la grue évitant la froidure.

Je faux, tu ne dansais, mais ton pied voletait
Sur le haut de la terre; aussi ton corps s'était
Transformé pour ce soir en divine nature.

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by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
3. The night that Eros in the Ballet Room
Language: English 
 The night that Eros in the Ballet Room
 had you perform an artful dance of love,
 your eyes seemed to bring back the sun above,
 so well did their bright rays dispel all gloom.
 
 It was divine: I watched the dance resume
 and break off and re-form and turn upon turn
 diverge and then remerge and wind in curves
 in imitation of Meander's stream.
 
 Now it was long, now narrow, sometimes round
 and sometimes pointed in the V formation
 of cranes in flight escaping Winter's coldness.
 
 I'm wrong, you did not dance: above the ground
 your body flew - for once mortal creation
 attained the airy nature of a goddess.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Peter Low, (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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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 109

Translation © by Peter Low
4. Je n'ai plus que les os
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Je n'ai plus que les os, un squelette je semble,
décharné, dénervé, démusclé, dépoulpé,
que le trait de la mort sans pardon a frappé.
Je n'ose voir mes bras que de peur je ne tremble.

Apollon et son fils, deux grands maîtres, ensemble
ne me sauraient guérir; leur métier m'a trompé.
Adieu plaisant soleil; mon oeil est étoupé,
mon corps s'en va descendre où tout se désassemble.

Quel ami me voyant en ce point dépouillé
ne remporte au logis un oeil triste et mouillé,
me consolant au lit et me baisant la face,

en essuyant mes yeux par la mort endormis?
Adieu, chers compagnons, adieu mes chers amis,
je m'en vais le premier vous préparer la place.

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by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
4. All I have now is bones
Language: English 
 All I have now is bones, I look like a skeleton,
 de-fleshed, de-nerved, de-muscled, deprived of pulp,
 struck down by the unforgiving arrow of death.
 I dare not look at my arms lest I shake with fear.
 
 Apollo and Asclepius, two master-physicians combined,
 could not cure me now; their profession has let me down.
 Farewell, pleasant sun; my eyes are blocked up.
 My body is descending to where all comes apart.
 
 What friend who sees me stripped to this extent
 does not head home with sad and tearful eyes,
 after consoling me in bed, kissing my face,
 
 and wiping my eyes which death has put to sleep?
 Farewell, dear companions, farewell, dear friends;
 I'm setting off first to prepare a place for you.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Peter Low, (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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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 123

Translation © by Peter Low
5. À son page
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Fais rafraîchir mon vin de sorte
qu'il passe en froideur un glaçon;
fais venir Jeanne, qu'elle apporte
son luth pour dire une chanson;
nous ballerons tous trois au son,
et dis à Barbe qu'elle vienne,
les cheveux tors à la façon
d'une folâtre Italienne.

Ne vois-tu que le jour se passe?
Je ne vis point au lendemain;
Page, reverse dans ma tasse,
que ce grand verre soit tout plein.
Maudit soit qui languit en vain!
Ces vieux médicins je n'appreuve;
mon cerveau n'est jamais bien sain
si beaucoup de vin ne l'abreuve.

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by Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
5. To his page
Language: English 
 Go and chill my wine so well
 that it's colder than an icicle!
 Fetch Jeanne and have her bring
 her lute to give me a song:
 all three of us will dance to the sound.
 And tell Barbe to come 
 with her hair in ringlets
 like a frolicsome Italian woman!
 
 Can't you see that time is passing?
 I refuse to live in the tomorrow.
 Page, come pour for me again
 so that this big glass is brimming!
 Cursed be those who engage in futile pining!
 I don't agree with those old doctors;
 my brain is never in good health
 unless it's irrigated with plenty of wine!

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2000 by Peter Low, (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.
    Contact: 

Based on:

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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 106

Translation © by Peter Low