Translation © by Faith J. Cormier

Le vase où meurt cette vervaine
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG ENG
Le vase où meurt cette vervaine
D'un coup d'éventail fut fêlé;
Le coup dut l'effleurer à peine,
Aucun bruit ne l'a révélé.

Mais la légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D'une marche invisible et sûre
En a fait lentement le tour.

Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s'est épuisé;
Personne encore ne s'en doute,
N'y touchez pas, il est brisé.

Souvent aussi la main qu'on aime
Effleurant le coeur, le meurtrit;
Puis le coeur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt;

Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde:
Il est brisé, n'y touchez pas.

About the headline (FAQ)

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:

Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • CZE Czech (Čeština) (Karel Čapek) , "Puklá váza"
  • CZE Czech (Čeština) (Karel Čapek) , "Puklá váza"
  • ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "The broken vase", copyright © 2002, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Amy Pfrimmer) , "The broken vase", copyright © 2019, (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: 20
Word count: 115

The broken vase
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
 The vase where this verbena is dying
 was cracked by a blow from a fan.
 It must have barely brushed it,
 for it made no sound.
 
 But the slight wound,
 biting into the crystal day by day,
 surely, invisibly crept
 slowly all around it.
 
 The clear water leaked out drop by drop.
 The flowers' sap was exhausted.
 Still no one suspected anything.
 Don't touch! It's broken.
 
 Thus often does the hand we love,
 barely touching the heart, wound it.
 Then the heart cracks by itself
 and the flower of its love dies.
 
 Still intact in the eyes of the world,
 it feels its wound, narrow and deep,
 grow and softly cry.
 It's broken. Don't touch!

Authorship

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 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.
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Based on

 

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 116