by Maurice Bouchor (1855 - 1929)
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier

Printemps triste
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): CAT ENG
Nos sentiers aimés s'en vont refleurir
Et mon cœur brisé ne peut pas renaître.
Aussi chaque soir me voit accourir 
Et longuement pleurer sous ta fenêtre.

Ta fenêtre vide où ne brille plus
Ta tête charmante ett ton doux sourire ;
Et comme je pense à nos jours perdus,
Je me lamente, et je ne sais que dire.

Et toujours les fleurs, et toujours le ciel,
Et l'âme des bois dans leur ombre épaisse
Murmurant en choeur un chant éternel 
Qui se répond dans l'air chargé d'ivresse !

Et la mer qui roule au soleil levant,
Emportant bien loin toutes mes pensées...
Qu'elles aillent donc sur l'aile du vent
Jusques à toi, ces colombes blessées !


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 or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Primavera trista", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "Springtime of sorrow", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 116

Springtime of sorrow
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
The paths we loved will flower again 
and my broken heart cannot be reborn. 
Each evening finds me weeping 
endless tears under your empty window, 

where your charming head 
and sweet smile no longer shine. 
When I think of our lost days, 
I mourn and am speechless. 

And always the flowers, always the sky, 
and the soul of the woods in its thick shadow 
murmur in eternal chorus. 
The answers are in the heavily intoxicated air! 

And the sea rolls on in the rising sun, 
sweeping all my thoughts away with it. 
May my thoughts, these wounded doves, 
ride far away on the wings of the wind until they reach you!


  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2014 by Faith J. Cormier, (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.

Based on


This text was added to the website: 2014-11-11
Line count: 16
Word count: 111