Three Poems of Petronius

Translations © by Peter Low

Song Cycle by Louis Durey (1888 - 1979)

View original-language texts alone: Trois Poèmes de Pétrone

1. La boule de neige
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Je ne croyais pas que la neige renfermât du feu;
Mais, l'autre jour, Julie me jeta une boule de neige,
Et cette neige était de feu. Qu'y-a-t'il de plus froid que la neige?
Et pourtant, Julie, la lancée par tes mains embrasa mon coeur.
Où trouver à present un refuge pour m'abriter des pièges de l'Amour,
Si même cette eau glacée recèle sa flamme?
Julie, tu peux éteindre cependant l'ardeur qui me consume,
Non pas avec la neige, non pas avec la glace, mais en brûlant d'un feu pareil au mien.

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by Charles Héguin de Guerle
1. The snowball
Language: English 
I did not think there was fire inside snow;
but the other day Julia threw a snowball at me
and that snow was fire. Is anything colder than snow?
And yet, Julia, what you threw ignited my heart.
Where now can I find a shelter to escape the traps of Love,
if there’s hidden flame even in this frozen water?
But Julia, you can quench the fire that consumes me,
not with snow or ice, but by burning with a flame equal to mine.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2017 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: 2017-08-02
Line count: 8
Word count: 84

Translation © by Peter Low
2. La Métempsychose
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Tandis que je cueillais un suave baiser des lèvres de mon ami,
et que j'aspirais sur sa bouche entr'ouverte le frais parfum de son haleine,
mon âme, enivrée, se précipita sur mes lèvres,
et, s'insinuant entre les siennes, s'efforçat de m'échapper. 

Ah! Si la tendre union de nos lèvres eût duré
un instant de plus, brûlée des feux de l'amour,
mon âme enflammée d'amour passait dans la sienne et m'abandonnait.
Ainsi, o merveille! Mort par moi-même,
j'aurais continué de vivre dans le sein de mon ami!

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by Charles Héguin de Guerle
2. Transmigration of the soul
Language: English 
While I was receiving a sweet kiss from my lover’s lips
and inhaling from his half-open mouth the fresh scent of his breath,
my soul, intoxicated, rushed up to my lips,
and sneaked between his, trying escape from me.

Ah, if the tender union of our lips had lasted
an instant longer, my soul, burnt by love’s fires,
aflame with love, would have passed into his soul and left me.
Thus, oh miracle, dead by my own doing,
I would have lived on in the breast of my lover!

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2017 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: 2017-08-02
Line count: 9
Word count: 89

Translation © by Peter Low
3. La grenade
 (Sung text)
Language: French (Français) 
Lesbie, lumière de mon âme, m'a envoyé une grenade:
maintenant je fais peu de cas des autres fruits.
Je dédaigne le coing au blanc duvet,
et la châtaigne hérissée de dards;
je ne veux ni des noix, ni des prunes luisantes.
De tels present sont assez bons pour le grossier Corydon.

Lesbie m'a aussi envoyé des gateaux
que ses dents ont légèrement mordus;
le miel de ses lèvres en a augmenté la douceur.
Je ne sais ce qui est le meilleur à respirer,
du doux parfum du miel, ou de son haleine,
plus embaumée que le thym de Cécropie.

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by Charles Héguin de Guerle
3. The pomegranate
Language: English 
Lesbia, the light of my soul, has sent me a pomegranate:
and now I don’t care for other kinds of fruit.
I disdain the quince with its white down,
and the chestnut with all its spikes,
I want neither walnuts nor shiny plums.
Such presents are good enough for crude Corydon.

Lesbia has also sent me cakes
which her teeth have lightly nibbled;
the honey of her lips has increased their sweetness.
I don’t know which is better to inhale,
the sweet smell of honey, or that of her breath
more aromatic than Cecropian thyme.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2017 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: 2017-08-02
Line count: 12
Word count: 95

Translation © by Peter Low