by
Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)
Mais voyez mon cher esmoy
See originalLanguage: French (Français)
Mais voyez mon cher esmoy,
Voyez combien de merveilles
Vous parfaites dedans moy
Par vos graces nompareilles.
De telle façon vos yeux,
Vostre ris et vostre grace,
Vostre beau front spacieux ,
Et vostre angélique face,
Me bruslent depuis le jour
Que je n’eus la cognoissance,
Desirant par grand amour
En avoir la jouyssance :
Que sans l’aide de mes pleurs
Dont ma vie est arrosée,
Long temps a que les chaleurs
D’Amour l’eussent embrasée.
Au contraire vos beaux yeux,
Vostre ris et vostre grace,
Vostre beau front spacieux,
Et vostre angélique face,
Me gelent depuis le jour
Que j’en eu la cognoissance,
Desirant par grande amour
En avoir la jouyssance :
Que sans l’aide des chaleurs
Dont mon ame est embrasée,
Long temps a que par mes pleurs
En eau se fust espuisée.
Voyez donc, mon cher esmoy,
Voyez combien de merveilles
Vous parfaites dedans moy
Par vos beautez nompareilles.
Composition:
Text Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (David Wyatt) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: David Wyatt
This text was added to the website: 2014-11-19
Line count: 32
Word count: 157
Language: English after the French (Français)
Ah see, my dear trouble!
See how many wonders
You perfect within me
Through your matchless grace.
In such a way your eyes
Your smile and your grace,
Your fair & spacious brow,
And your angelic face
Have been burning me since the day
When I first knew them,
Wishing with great passion
To have the pleasure of them;
So that without the aid of my tears
With which my life is bedewed,
Long since the heats
Of Love would have set me ablaze.
On the contrary, your fair eyes
Your smile and your grace,
Your fair & spacious brow,
And your angelic face
Have been freezing me since the day
When I first knew them,
Wishing with great passion
To have the pleasure of them;
So that without the aid of the heats
With which my soul is burning,
Long since my plaints
Would have been exhausted in water.
See then, my dear trouble,
See how many wonders
You perfect within me
Through your matchless beauty.
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2014 by David Wyatt, (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: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2014-11-19
Line count: 32
Word count: 173
