Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie,
Et s'est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil rayant, clair et beau.
Il n'y a bête, ne oiseau,
Qu'en son jargon ne chant ou crie:
Le temps a laissé son manteau!
Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent, en livrée jolie,
Gouttes d'argent d'orfaverie.
Chacun s'habille de nouveau:
Le temps a laissé son manteau!
Auprès de cette grotte sombre
Où l'on respire un air si doux,
L'onde lutte avec les cailloux,
Et la lumière avecque l'ombre.
Ces flots lassés de l'exercice
Qu'ils ont fait dessus ce gravier,
Se reposent dans le vivier
Ou mourut autre fois Narcisse...
L'ombre de cette fleur vermeille,
Et celle de ces joncs pendants
Paraissent être là-dedans
Les songes de l'eau qui sommeille.
Pour ce que Plaisance est morte
Ce mai, suis vêtu de noir,
C'est grand pitié de véoir
Mon cœur qui s'en déconforte.
Je m'habille de la sorte
Que dois, pour faire devoir;
Pour ce que Plaisance est morte,
Ce mai, suis vêtu de noire.
Le temps ces nouvelles porte,
Qui ne veut déduit avoir,
Mais par force du plouvoir,
Fait des champs clore la porte,
Pour ce que Plaisance est morte.
The weather has put aside its coat
of wind, of cold and of rain,
and has clothed itself in embroidery,
in sun shining, brilliant and beautiful.
There is neither beast nor bird
which, in its own tongue, does not sing or shout:
the weather has put aside its coat!
River, spring and stream
wear as pretty livery
drops of silver jewellery.
Everyone is freshly dressed:
the weather has put aside its coat!
Close by this dark cave
where one breathes such a sweet air,
the ripple wrestles with the pebbles
and the light with the shadow.
These waves, tired from the exertion
they have made upon this gravel,
take their rest in the pond
where Narcissus died once long ago...
The shadow of this scarlet flower,
and that of these drooping reeds
seem to be, therein,
the dreams of the water as it slumbers.
Because Plaisance is dead
this May, I am clothed in black,
it is a great pity to see
my heart which is so distressed.
I dress in a manner
that is fitting, to fulfil obligation,
because Plaisance is dead
this May, I am clothed in black.
The weather, which allows no diversion,
brings its tidings,
but by the means of rain,
causes the doors of the fields to be closed,
because Plaisance is dead.
© translated by Christopher Goldsack
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