by Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle (1818 - 1894)
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier

Elle passe, tranquille, en un rêve divin
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG GER
Elle passe, tranquille, en un rêve divin,
Sur le bord du plus frais de tes lacs, ô Norvège...
Le sang rose et subtil qui dore son col fin
Est doux comme un rayon de l'aube sur la neige...

Au murmure indécis du frêne et du bouleau,
Dans l'étincellement et le charme de l'heure,
Elle va, reflétée au pâle azur de l'eau
Qu'un vol silencieux de papillons effleure.

Quand un souffle furtif glisse en ses cheveux blonds,
Une cendre ineffable inonde son épaule;
Et, de leur transparence argentant leurs cils longs,
Ses yeux ont la couleur des belles nuits du Pôle.

Purs d'ombre et de désir, n'ayant rien espéré
Du monde périssable où rien d'ailé ne reste,
Jamais ils n'ont souri, jamais ils n'ont pleuré,
Ces yeux calmes, ouverts sur l'horizon céleste.

Et le Gardien pensif du mystique oranger
Des balcons de l'Aurore éternelle se penche,
Et regarde passer ce fantôme léger
Dans les plis de sa robe immortellement blanche.

About the headline (FAQ)

First appeared in the revue La République des Lettres, December 20, 1875, and then in 1884 in Poèmes tragiques


Authorship:

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

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

  • ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "Epiphany", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Erscheinung", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Faith J. Cormier

This text was added to the website: 2004-12-15
Line count: 20
Word count: 159

Epiphany
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
She passes quietly in a divine dream, 
by the coolest of your lakes, oh Norway. 
The subtle pink blood that gilds her fine collar
is as soft as the rays of dawn on the snow. 

At the vague murmur of ash and birch, 
in the sparkling charm of the hour, 
she goes, reflected in the pale azure of the water, 
skimmed by a silent flight of butterflies. 

When a furtive breeze riffles her blonde hair, 
ineffable ashes wash over her shoulder 
and her eyes, the colour of beautiful nights at the Pole, 
are so transparent that they tint her long lashes silver. 

Untarnished by shadow and desire, having hoped for nothing 
from this fleeting world where no winged creatures remain, 
never having smiled or wept, 
these calm eyes are open to the heavenly horizon. 

And the pensive guardian of the mystical orange tree
leans down from the balconies of the eternal Dawn
and watches this light ghost pass 
in the folds of an immortally white robe.

Authorship:

  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2004 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.
    Contact: 

Based on:

 

This text was added to the website: 2004-12-15
Line count: 20
Word count: 166