O flow'r which once the meadow grac'd

by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky (1783 - 1852)

Translation Singable translation by Constance Bache (1846 - 1903)

Цветок

Language: Russian (Русский)

Минутная краса полей,
Цветок увядший, одинокой,
Лишён ты прелести своей
Рукою осени жестокой. 

Увы! нам тот же дан удел,
И тот же рок нас угнетает:
С тебя листочек облетел -
От нас веселье отлетает. 

Отьемлет каждый день у нас
Или мечту, иль наслажденье. 
И каждый разрушает час
Драгое сердцу заблужденье. 

Смотри... очарованья нет;
Звезда надежды угасает... 
Увы! кто скажет: жизнь иль цвет
Быстрее в мире исчезает?

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Note on Transliterations

Text Authorship:

by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky (1783 - 1852), first published 1811 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

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

by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Aliabev (1787 - 1851), "Цветок", 1811 [sung text checked 1 time]
by Anton Grigoryevich Rubinstein (1829 - 1894), "Цветок", op. 8 (Sechs russische Volkslieder) no. 4, published 1850, also set in German (Deutsch) [sung text checked 1 time]
by Aleksandr Yegorovich Varlamov (1801 - 1848), "Цветок" [sung text checked 1 time]

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by (Karl) Wilhelm Osterwald (1820 - 1887) ; composed by Anton Grigoryevich Rubinstein.

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

ENG English [singable] (Constance Bache)

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: 65

O flow'r which once the meadow grac'd

Language: English after the Russian (Русский)

O flow'r which once the meadow grac'd,
But wither'd now, and unremember'd,
With all thy blooming charms defac'd,
By autumn's cruel wrath dismember'd.
 
We, too, shall find as mournful end,
Before the same cold storms we're quailing;
Their blasts will all our pleasures rend,
Chase them afar, and leave us wailing.
 
Within our hearts there dies each day,
Some sweet delight, some fairest seeming;
And not an hout which flows away,
But leaves us sad with fruitless dreaming.
 
Thy star of hope is fair to see,
Yet quickly fade its beams alluring;
Nor know we if our lives shall be
Than any flow'ret more enduring.

About the headline (FAQ)

Text Authorship:

Singable translation by Constance Bache (1846 - 1903) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

Based on:

a text in Russian (Русский) by Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky (1783 - 1852), first published 1811
- Go to the text page.

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

[ None yet in the database ]

Researcher for this page: Harry Joelson

This text was added to the website: 2008-01-06
Line count: 16
Word count: 105