Quand viendra la saison nouvelle,
Quand auront disparu les froids,
Tous les deux, nous irons, ma belle,
Pour cueillir le muguet au bois;
Sous nos pieds égrenant les perles
Que l'on voit, au matin trembler,
Nous irons écouter les merles
Siffler.
Le printemps est venu, ma belle;
C'est le mois des amants béni;
Et l'oiseau, satinant son aile,
Dit des vers au rebord du nid.
Ah ! viens donc sur ce banc de mousse
Pour parler de nos beaux amours,
Et dis-moi de ta voix si douce:
«Toujours !»
...
Note: the text above is taken from stanzas 1-2 of the original text.
Composition:
Set to music by Paul Viardot (1857 - 1941), "Villanelle", published 1887, stanzas 1-2 [ high voice and piano ], from Six mélodies, poésies de T. Gautier, M. Carré, Sully Prudhomme et M. Bouchor, no. 6, Paris, Henri Heugel
Text Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English [singable] (Samuel Byrne) , "Villanelle"
- ENG English [singable] (Shula Keller) , "Villanelle", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Emily Ezust) , copyright © 2015
- FRI Frisian (Geart van der Meer) , "Villanelle", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Nele Gramß) , "Villanelle", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Contadinella", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Pierre Mathé
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 135
When the season changes all around us --
When the cold winter frost is gone --
To the forest we'll go, my darling --
There to gather the Primrose flow'r.
Strolling through the dewy bushes --
How they tremble beneath our -- soles !
(2) - We'll run and hear the cheerful Thrushes,
Serenade!
...
