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Petits rossignols n'ayez peur, Rassemblez-vous sous ma fenètre: Dans vos chants je crois reconnaitre La voix qui parlait à mon coeur; Abusez-moi toujours de même, Chantez l'amour, suivez ses lois! Ah rien n'est doux comme la voix Qui dit: je t'aime. Autour de moi, je crois toujours Entendre soupirer Marie, Et comme une voix qui me crie: Bien-aimé songe à nos amours! Prolongez ce charme suprême, Oiseaux fixez-vous dans ces bois! Ah rien n'est doux comme la voix Qui dit: je t'aime. Mais l'aquilon de tous cotés Souffle en grondant sur ce rivage, Pour éviter un temps d'orage, Eh quoi? déjà vous me quittez! Ingrats, je reviens à moi-même, Ah rien au monde, je le vois, N'est passager comme la voix Qui dit: je t'aime.
Note: some sources erroneously indicate the poet's name as Sylvain Blet.
Authorship
- by Sylvain Blot (1795 - c1863) [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 Maria Felicia Garcia Malibran (1808 - 1836), "La voix qui dit: je t'aime", published [1830] [ voice and piano ], from Album Lyrique, no. 2, Éd. Troupenas [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Mathilde, Baroness Willy de Rothschild (1832 - 1924), "La voix qui dit je t'aime" [ voice and piano ] [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Laura L. Nagle) , "The voice that says I love you", copyright © 2007, (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: 24
Word count: 125
Little nightingales, do not be afraid; Gather below my window. In your songs I think I can hear The voice that spoke to my heart. Deceive me thus always! Sing of love, follow its laws! Ah, nothing is as sweet as the voice That says, I love you. All around me, I still think I can hear Marie's sighs, Like a voice that cries out: Beloved, think of our love! Prolong this sublime spell, Birds, settle here in these woods! Ah, nothing is as sweet as the voice That says, I love you. But the north wind blows from all sides, Rumbling along the shore. To avoid the storm -- how can it be? -- Already you are leaving me, Ungrateful ones! I come to my senses. Oh, nothing in the world, I can see, Is as fleeting as the voice That says, I love you.
Authorship
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2007 by Laura L. Nagle, (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:
- a text in French (Français) by Sylvain Blot (1795 - c1863)
This text was added to the website: 2007-03-01
Line count: 24
Word count: 144