by James Joyce (1882 - 1941)
Translation © by Guy Laffaille

Now, O now, in this brown land
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
Now, O now, in this brown land
    Where Love did so sweet music make 
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
    Forbearing for old friendship' sake, 
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
    Is knocking, knocking at the tree; 
And all around our loneliness
    The wind is whistling merrily. 
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
    The vilanelle and roundelay! 
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
    We take sad leave at close of day. 
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.

About the headline (FAQ)

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, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , title unknown, copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2008-01-24 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:02:35
Line count: 18
Word count: 117

Maintenant, oh, maintenant, dans cette...
Language: French (Français)  after the English 
Maintenant, oh, maintenant, dans cette terre brune
Où l'Amour a fait une musique si douce
Nous deux, nous nous promènerons, la main dans la main,
Patients par égard pour l'ancienne amitié,
Sans chagrin parce que notre amour était gai
Lui qui est fini de cette manière.

Un fripon en habit rouge et jaune
Frappe, frappe sur l'arbre ;
Et tout autour de notre solitude
Le vent siffle joyeusement.
Les feuilles -- elles ne soupirent pas du tout
Quand l'année les prend dans la chute.

Maintenant, oh, maintenant, nous n'entendons plus
La villanelle et le rondeau !
Pourtant nous nous embrasserons, ma bien-aimée, avant
Que nous quittions tristement à la tombée du jour.
Ne te désole, ma bien-aimée, de rien --
L'année, l'année fait sa cueillette.

About the headline (FAQ)

Authorship

  • Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2009 by Guy Laffaille, (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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Text added to the website: 2009-11-07 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:26
Line count: 18
Word count: 123