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Le ciel est clair et l'air est doux, Tout rit, tout jase autour de nous; Toi seul, ô mon pauvre oiselet, Toi seul languis triste et muet. Le printemps qui tout ranime De nos monts verdit la cime; De la brise matinale Un parfum d'amour s'exhale, Aux champs, dans le secret des bois, Tout ce qui vit dit à la fois Le mot que la nuit dit au jour, Le mot charmant, le mot d'amour. Ah! Assise loin de son troupeau, Et le suivant d'un oeil rêveur, Chloé ne sait quel feu nouveau Soudain s'allume dans son coeur. Mais toi l'on ne peut te charmer, Tu fuis le doux plaisir d'aimer. Celui de qui tu plains les maux Gémit captif sous les barreaux, Adieu! l'amour et la gaîté Pour qui n'a pas la liberté.
- by Louis Pomey (1835 - 1901), "L'oiselet" [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 Pauline Viardot-García (1821 - 1910), "L'oiselet", VWV: 4021 (1848) [voice and piano], from 12 Mazurkas for voice and piano, no. 5, note: an arrangement of Chopin's Mazurka #47 in A minor, op. 68 no. 2 [ sung text verified 2 times]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Barbara Miller) , "The little bird", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: John Versmoren
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 22
Word count: 134
The sky is bright and the air is sweet, Everything laughs, everything chatters around us; You alone, you alone, o my poor little bird You alone languish sad and mute. The springtime which brings everything back to life Of our mountains makes green the peaks; Of the morning breeze A perfume of love breathes out To the fields, in the secrecy of the woods, Everything that lives says at once The word, the word that the night says to the day. The charming word, the word of love Ah! Seated far from her flock, And following it with the eye of a dreamer, Chloe does not know what fire, what new fire Suddenly lights itself within her heart But you, one cannot charm. You flee the sweet pleasure of loving. Him whose pains you pity Moans, captive behind bars, Goodbye! Goodbye! love and gaity For him who has no liberty.
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 by Barbara Miller, (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.
- a text in French (Français) by Louis Pomey (1835 - 1901), "L'oiselet"
This text was added to the website: 2004-04-21
Line count: 22
Word count: 150