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She's like the swallow that flies so high, She's like the river that never runs dry, She's like the sunshine on the lee shore, I love my love and love is no more. 'Twas out in the garden this fair maid did go, A-picking the beautiful primerose; The more she pluck'd the more she pulled Until she got her aperon full. It's out of those roses she made a bed, A stony pillow for her head. She laid her down, no word did say, Until this fair maid's heart did break. She's like the swallow that flies so high, She's like the river that never runs dry, She's like the sunshine on the lee shore, I love my love and love is no more.
Authorship
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by (Edward) Benjamin Britten (1913 - 1976), "She's like the swallow", 1976 [voice and harp], from 8 Folk Song Arrangements, no. 2. [text verified 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title 1: "Elle est comme l'hirondelle", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , title 1: "Sie gleicht einer Schwalbe", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Virginia Knight
Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:54
Line count: 16
Word count: 124
Elle est comme l'hirondelle qui vole si haut, Elle est comme la rivière qui ne coule jamais à sec, Elle est comme l'éclat du soleil sur J'aime mon amour et l'amour n'est pas plus. C'était dans le jardin que la belle jeune fille était allée, À la cueillette de magnifiques roses fraîche ; Plus elle cueillait, plus elle tirait, Jusqu'à ce que son tablier soit rempli. C'est de ces roses qu'elle a fait un lit, Un oreiller en pierre pour sa tête. Elle se coucha par terre, aucun mot ne fut prononcé, Jusqu'à ce que le cœur de cette belle jeune fille se brisât. Elle est comme l'hirondelle qui vole si haut, Elle est comme la rivière qui ne coule jamais à sec, Elle est comme l'éclat du soleil sur J'aime mon amour et l'amour n'est pas plus.
Authorship
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2015 by Guy Laffaille, (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.
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- a text in English from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Text added to the website: 2015-08-29 00:00:00
Last modified: 2015-08-29 10:53:40
Line count: 16
Word count: 138