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Nous sommes aux portes du printemps, voici la merveilleuse nuit si douce appesantie sur les campagnes, ô campagnes qui vous étendez mollement inclinées au devant de moi, soulevées par les collines et cheminant jusqu'au lointain horizon courbe vers les dernières clartés du jour. Nous sommes aux portes du printemps; la terre humide des labours, la jeune herbe de blés, la trèfle, la luzerne et les fleurs endormies exhalent leur parfum. La terre douce, meuble et mouillée, sillonnée par le murmure des eaux, animée par le murmure des eaux et par le chant confus des grillons, s'étend sous le firmament des étoiles. Je suis au milieu des campagnes, arrêté, debout, les yeux fermés pour m'abandonner mieux à la nuit. Mon coeur est animé d'amour. La source de larmes et de prières s'ouvre dans mon coeur. Je voudrais parler et que ma voix s'entende et soit portée comme une chose vivante au dessus du murmure des eaux. Je voudrais chanter l'amour de mon coeur et répéter le nom de mon amie. Mais qui est mon amie, qui est mon amie? Où êtes-vous, merveilleuse et douce qui m'aimerez, vous inclinant devant moi, et qui me donnerez votre coeur pour enrichir le mien et votre douleur? Où êtes-vous? Je ne sais pas le nom de mon amie et je dirai seulement "Amour, ô amour, tristesse amère." Tout cela, la douceur de cette terre chaude et ces étoiles, cette longue nuit calme, c'est le printemps; nous sommes aux portes du printemps, le silence est aussi vaste que la nuit. Maintenant commence à chanter son chant grave et pur le rossignol.
Authorship:
- by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915) [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 Darius Milhaud (1892 - 1974), "Le rossignol", op. 20 no. 3 (1914), published 1920 [ voice and piano ], from Quatre Poèmes de Léo Latil, no. 3, Éd. Durand [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Faith J. Cormier) , "The nightingale", copyright © 2002, (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: 37
Word count: 265
We're on the brink of spring. The wondrously sweet night weighs on the countryside spread out limply before me, raised by the hills and stretching toward the distant horizon curving toward the last glimmers of daylight. We're on the brink of spring. The damp, fresh-ploughed earth, the shoots of wheat, the clover, the alfalfa and the sleeping flowers breath their perfume. The sweet, moving, damp earth, crossed by the murmur of streams animated by the murmur of streams and the confused song of the cricket, stretches out under the firmament of stars. I'm standing in the middle of a field, eyes closed, better to abandon myself to the night. My heart is full of love. The source of tears and prayers opens in my heart. I would speak, and my voice would be heard and spread like a living thing above the waters' murmurings. I want to sing the love in my heart and repeat the name of my beloved. But who is my beloved, who is my beloved? Where are you, marvelous sweet one who will love me, bend before me and give me your heart to enrich mine and your pain? Where are you? I don't know the name of my beloved, and I can only say, "Love, oh love, bitter sadness." All that, the sweetness of this warm earth and these stars, this long, calm night. It is spring. We are on the brink of spring. The silence is as broad as the night. Now the nightingale begins its pure, solemn song.
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (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:
- a text in French (Français) by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 37
Word count: 256