by Maurice Magre (1877 - 1941)
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Je ne t'aime pas
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG
Retire ta main, je ne t'aime pas
Car tu l'as voulu, tu n'es qu'un ami.
Pour d'autres sont faits le creux de tes bras
Et ton cher baiser, ta tête endormie.

Ne me parle pas, lorsque c'est le soir
Trop intimement, à voix basse même
Ne me donne pas surtout ton mouchoir :
Il renferme trop le parfum que j'aime.

Dis-moi tes amours, je ne t'aime pas
Quelle heure te fut la plus enivrante ?
Et si elle t'aimait bien, et si elle fut ingrate
En me le disant, ne sois pas charmant.

Je n'ai pas pleuré, je n'ai pas souffert
Ce n'était qu'un rêve et qu'une folie.
Il me suffira que tes yeux soient clairs
Sans regret du soir, ni mélancolie.

Il me suffira de voir ton bonheur
Il me suffira de voir ton sourire.
Conte-moi comment elle a pris ton cœur
Et même dis-moi ce qu'on ne peut dire.

Non, tais-toi plutôt... Je suis à genoux
Le feu s'est éteint, la porte est fermée
Ne demande rien, je pleure... C'est tout.
Je ne t'aime pas, ô mon bien-aimé.


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

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Emily Ezust) , title 1: "I don't love you", copyright © 2016

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 180

I don't love you
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
Take away your hand -- for I don't love you;
Because you have wished it, you are only a friend.
Your embrace is for other people,
Your dear kiss, your slumbering head.

Don't talk to me when it is evening
In that very low voice, for it is too intimate;
And especially don't give me your handkerchief:
It holds too much of the scent I love.

Tell me of your loves -- for I don't love you,
Tell me of your most intoxicating moment. 
And if she loved you well, or if she was ungrateful,
In telling me, don't be charming --

I haven't cried, I haven't suffered,
It was only a dream -- a kind of madness.
It is enough to see your clear eyes,
With neither the regret of evening nor melancholy.

It is enough to see your joy,
It is enough to see your smile.
Tell me how she stole your heart,
And tell me especially what shouldn't be told.

No, rather be silent... I am on my knees.
The fire has gone out, the door is closed.
Don't ask me anything, I'm crying... that's all.
I don't love you, oh my beloved!


  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2016 by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive --

    For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.

Based on


This text was added to the website: 2016-10-04
Line count: 24
Word count: 192