by Paul Verlaine (1844 - 1896)
Translation by Bergen Weeks Applegate (b. 1865)

Comme la voix d'un mort qui chanterait
Language: French (Français) 
Available translation(s): ENG
Comme la voix d'un mort qui chanterait
	Du fond de sa fosse,
Maîtresse, entends monter vers ton retrait
	Ma voix aigre et fausse.

Ouvre ton âme et ton oreille au son
	De la mandoline :
Pour toi j'ai fait, pour toi, cette chanson
	Cruelle et câline.

Je chanterai tes yeux d'or et d'onyx
	Purs de toutes ombres,
Puis le Léthé de ton sein, puis le Styx
	De tes cheveux sombres.

Comme la voix d'un mort qui chanterait
	Du fond de sa fosse,
Maîtresse, entends monter vers ton retrait
	Ma voix aigre et fausse.

Puis je louerai beaucoup, comme il convient,
	Cette chair bénie
Dont le parfum opulent me revient
	Les nuits d'insomnie.

Et pour finir, je dirai le baiser
	De ta lèvre rouge,
Et ta douceur à me martyriser,
	— Mon Ange ! — ma Gouge !

Ouvre ton âme et ton oreille au son
	De ma mandoline :
Pour toi j'ai fait, pour toi, cette chanson
	Cruelle et câline.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with Paul Verlaine, Poëmes saturniens, Paris: Alphonse Lemerre, 1866, pages 93-95.


Authorship:

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

Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:

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

  • ENG English (Corinne Orde) , "Serenade", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Bergen Weeks Applegate) , "Serenade", appears in Poems Saturnine
  • GER German (Deutsch) ( Wolf von Kalckreuth, Graf) , "Serenade"


Research team for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Poom Andrew Pipatjarasgit [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 160

Serenade
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
Like the voice of one dead yet singing
  From the depth of the grave,
Hear thou, O my mistress, the stinging
  Shrill voice of thy slave.

Open thy soul and thy ear to the sound
  Of my mandolin;
For thee have I made, for thee to resound,
  This song cruel and thin.

I sing to thine eyes, they are onyx and golden,
  No shadows are there;
To thy bosom, as Lethe, the olden —
  To the Styx of thy hair.

Like the voice of one dead yet singing
  From the depth of the grave,
Hear thou, O my mistress, the stinging
  Shrill voice of thy slave.

Then I praise over-much, as befitting,
  Thy flesh ever blest,
Whose opulent perfume comes flitting
  Through my nights of unrest.

And I sing of thy red lips, intently —
  Lips red as a jewel;
Of the martyrdom laid on me gently,
  My Angel — my Ghoul!

Open thy soul and thy ear to the sound
  Of my mandolin;
For thee have I made, for thee, to resound
  This song cruel and thin.

Confirmed with Bergen Applegate, Paul Verlaine: His Absinthe-Tinted Song, Chicago, Ralph Fletcher Seymour, The Alderbrink Press, 1916, pages 63-64.


Authorship:

Based on:

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 text: Poom Andrew Pipatjarasgit [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2022-03-13
Line count: 28
Word count: 178