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Phidylé

Duparc (1882)

L'herbe est molle au sommeil sous les frais peupliers,
Au pentes des sources moussues,
Qui, dans les prés en fleurs germant par mille issues,
Se perdent sous les noir halliers.

Repose, ô Phidylé. Midi sur les feuillages
Rayonne, et t'invite au sommeil.
Par le trèfle et le thym, seules, en plein soleil,
Chantent les abeilles volages.

Un chaud parfum circule aux détours des sentiers,
La rouge fleur des blés s'incline,
Et les oiseaux, rasant de l'aile la colline,
Cherchent l'ombre des églantiers.

Mais quand l'Astre, incliné sur sa courbe éclatante,
Verra ses ardeurs s'apaiser,
Que ton plus beau sourire et ton meilleur baiser
Me récompensent de l'attente!

Leconte de Lisle

Phidylé

 

The grass is soft for sleeping beneath the cool poplars,
on the slopes of the mossy springs,
which, gushing from a thousand springs in the flowering
fields, are lost beneath the dark thickets.

Rest, o Phidylé. Midday is beaming
on the foliage, and invites you to sleep.
Through the clover and the thyme, alone, in the full sun,
the flying bees are singing.

A warm fragrance circulates at the bends of the paths,
the red field-poppy bows down,
and the birds, skimming the hillside with their wing,
search for the shade of the sweet briar.

But when, sinking on its resplendent arc, the sun
sees its flames die down,
let your beautiful smile and your sweetest kiss
reward me for waiting!

© translated by Christopher Goldsack

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