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Sur l'herbe

Ravel (1907)

L'abbé divague. _ Et toi, marquis,
Tu mets de travers ta perruque.
_ Ce vieux vin de Chypre est exquis
Moins, Camargo, que votre nuque.

Ma flamme... _ Do, mi, sol, la, si
L'abbé, ta noirceur se dévoile!
_ Que je meure, Mesdames, si
Je ne vous décroche une étoile!

_ Je voudrais être petit chien!
_ Embrassons nos bergères, l'une
Après l'autre. _ Messieurs! eh bien?
_ Do, mi, sol. _ Hé! bonsoir, la Lune!

Paul Verlaine

On the grass

 

The abbot digresses. _ And you, Marquis,
you put your wig on askew.
_ This old Cyprus wine is exquisite
less so, Camargo, than your nape.

My flame... _ Do, mi, sol, la, si,
Abbot, your baseness reveals itself!
_ May I die, Ladies, if
I fail to unhook a star for you!

_ I should like to be a little dog!
_ Let us embrace our shepherdesses, one
after the other. _ Gentlemen! Well then?
_ Do, mi, sol. _ Oh well! Good-evening, Moon!

© translated by Christopher Goldsack

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