by Thomas Carew (1595? - 1639?)
Translation © by Guy Laffaille

Ask me no more where Jove bestows
Language: English 
Available translation(s): FRE
Ask me no more where [Jove]1 bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.  

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when [May]2 is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.  

Ask me no more where those stars 'light,
That downwards fall [in]3 dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixèd become as in their sphere.  

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phœnix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

About the headline (FAQ)

View original text (without footnotes)
1 Headlam-Morley: "Love"
2 Headlam-Morley: "June"
3 Headlam-Morley: "at"


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):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Chant", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Jacques L'oiseleur des Longchamps

This text was added to the website: 2009-03-21
Line count: 20
Word count: 135

Language: French (Français)  after the English 
Ne me demande plus où Jupiter loge
Quand Juin est parti, les roses sont fanées ;
Car dans l'orient profond de ta beauté
Ces fleurs, comme dans leurs causes, dorment.

Ne me demande plus où errent
Les atomes dorés du jour ;
Car dans l'amour pur le ciel a préparé
Ces poudres pour enrichir tes cheveux.

Ne me demande plus où se hâte
Le rossignol, quand Mai est parti ;
Car dans ta gorge douce qui partage,
Il hiberne, et garde au chaud sa note.

Ne me demande plus où s'allument ces étoiles
Qui tombent en bas au plus profond de la nuit
Car dans tes yeux elle reposent, et là
Deviennent fixes, comme dans leur sphère.

Ne me demande plus si c'est à l'est ou à l'ouest
Que le phénix construit son nid épicé ;
Car vers toi enfin il vole,
Et dans ton sein parfumé meurt.


  • Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2010 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.

Based on


This text was added to the website: 2010-08-01
Line count: 20
Word count: 148