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Debussy - Fleur des blés

Fleur des blés

Debussy (1878)

Le long des blés que la brise
Fait onduler puis défrise
En un désordre coquet,
J'ai trouvé de bonne prise
De t'y cueillir un bouquet.

Mets-le vite à ton corsage;
Il est fait à ton image
En même temps que pour toi...
Ton petit doigt, je le gage,
T'a déjà soufflé pourquoi:

Ces épis dorés, c'est l'onde
De ta chevelure blonde
Toute d'or et de soleil;
Ce coquelicot qui fronde
C'est ta bouche au sang vermeil.

Et ces bluets, beau mystère!
Points d'azur que rien n'altère,
Ces bluets ce sont tes yeux,
Si bleus qu'on dirait, sur terre,
Deux éclats tombés des cieux.

André Girod

Flower of the wheat-fields


Along the wheat which the breeze
ripples then uncurls
in a teasing disorder,
I found good opportunity
to gather you a bouquet.

Place it quickly on your bodice;
it is made to your image
at the same time as for you...
Your little finger, I wager,
has already told you why:

these golden ears of wheat are the wave
of your blond hair
all gold and sunshine;
this poppy which sways
is your mouth of vermilion blood.

and these cornflowers, beautiful mystery
specks of azure which nothing changes,
these cornflowers are your eyes,
so blue that, on earth, one would say
two fragments fallen from the heavens.

© translated by Christopher Goldsack

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