by
Louise Labé (1526 - 1566)
Tout aussi tot que ie commence à prendre
Language: French (Français)
Tout aussi tot que ie commence à prendre
Dens le mol lit le repos desiré,
Mon triste esprit hors de moy retiré
S'en va vers toy incontinent se rendre.
Lors m'est auis que dedens mon sein tendre
Ie tiens le bien, ou i'ay tant aspiré.
Et pour lequel i'ay si haut souspire,
Que de fanglots ay souuent cuidé fendre.
Ô dous sommeil, ô nuit à moy heureuse !
Plaisant repos, plein de tranquilité,
Continuez toutes les nuiz mon songe :
Et si iamais ma poure ame amoureuse
Ne doit auoir de bien en vérité.
Faites au moins qu'elle en ait en mensonge.
About the headline (FAQ)
Confirmed with Œuvres de Louise Labé, texte établi par Charles Boy, Paris, Alphonse Lemerre, 1887, page 98.
Text 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 Ernst Alexander 'Sas' Bunge (1924 - 1980), "Sonnet IX", published 1951 [ medium voice and piano ], from Trois airs, sur des poèmes de Louise Labé, no. 1, Amsterdam, Donemus [sung text not yet checked]
- by Henri-Pierre Poupard (1901 - 1989), as Henri Sauguet, "Songe", 1927, published 1928 [ high voice and piano ], from Six sonnets de L. Labé, no. 3, Éd. Rouard Lerolle [sung text not yet checked]
- by Lex Zwaap (1919 - 1988), as Lex van Delden, "Sonnet IX", op. 1 no. 3 (1937) [ soprano, flute, clarinet, and string trio ], from L'amour, 4 liederen en 3 interludes, no. 3 [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2008-07-06
Line count: 14
Word count: 100
As soon as I get the chance, at end of...
Language: English after the French (Français)
As soon as I get the chance, at end of day,
to lay my head down on my pillow and sleep,
out of my body my sad spirit creeps
and hurries off to meet you straight away.
Then I fancy that here, close to my heart,
I hold the prize to which I’ve long aspired,
the man whom I’ve so urgently desired
that sobs have nearly shaken me apart.
Oh gentle sleep, oh night bearer of pleasure,
oh sweet repose, balm of tranquillity,
bring me this dream at every day’s conclusion.
And if my poor enamoured spirit never
gets to possess its hope in reality,
grant at least that it does so by illusion.
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2022 by Peter Low, (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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Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Louise Labé (1526 - 1566), no title, written 1552, appears in Sonnets, no. 9
This text was added to the website: 2022-07-11
Line count: 14
Word count: 114