Translation Singable translation by P. J. Curran

Violette
Language: French (Français) 
Dans les prés verts où le ruisseau
Passe et murmure,
Tu mires au cristal de l'eau 
Ta tête pure,
Petite fleur qui se trahit 
Si parfumée 
Par toi la brise de la nuit
Est embaumée.
Lorsque la lune à l'horizon
Pâle s'allume 
Sur ta corolle son rayon 
Blanc se parfume
Quand tu fuis les regards de tous,
Humble et discrète,
Ton doux parfum,
ô violette,
Vient vers nous.

Le premier souffle du printemps
Te fait éclore 
Et l'hiver qui blanchit nos champs
Te voit encore;
Dans la mansarde, o douce fleur,
A la souffrance 
Tu portes l'agréable odeur
Et l'espérance 
Quand nos larmes tombent sur toi,
Triste rosée,
Tu consoles dans son émoi
L'âme brisée.
Lorsque ton calice fermé
Devient tout pâle,
Ton dernier souffle qui s'exhale
Est parfumé.

Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2014-04-06
Line count: 33
Word count: 129

Violet
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
In green fields where the winding stream,
Murmuring passes,
Reflected in the sunlight beam,
Midst fragrant grasses,
Dear little flow'r, thou buddest bright,
So sweetly blooming
Loading the breezes of the night,
With thy perfuming,
When the pale moon, at close of day,
Mildly is beaming,
She sheds her softest silver ray,
With beauty teeming,
Chaste bud on thee, hiding secure,
From each one's glances,
Yet thy rare odor still entrances,
Sweet and pure.

The earliest zephyr of the year,
Calls thee to being;
Amid fall winds thou still art near,
When birds are fleeing;
And when the soul from pallid cot,
Its flight is winging,
Thou cheerest suffering's hard lot,
Kind comfort bringing.
When our tears fall upon thy leaf,
In tribulation;
In thee the heart oppress'd by grief,
Finds consolation.
And when with life's approaching doom
Thy blush is paling;
Thy parting sigh, in death exhaling,
Breathes perfume.

Authorship:

Based on:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2014-04-06
Line count: 32
Word count: 150