by Sylvain Blot (1795 - c1863)
Translation © by Laura L. Nagle

La voix qui dit: je t'aime
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG
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

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 (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

The voice that says I love you
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
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.
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Based on

 

This text was added to the website: 2007-03-01
Line count: 24
Word count: 144