Au pays où se fait la guerre
Language:
French
Au pays où se fait la guerre
Mon bel ami s'en est allé.
Il semble à mon coeur désolé
Qu'il ne reste que moi sur terre.
En partant au baiser d'adieu,
Il m'a pris mon âme à ma bouche...
Qui le tient si longtemps, mon Dieu?
Voilà le soleil qui se chouche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J'attends encore son retour.
Les pigeons sur le toit roucoulent,
Roucoulent amoureusement,
Avec un son triste et charmant;
Les eaux sous les grands saules coulent...
Je me sens tout près de pleurer,
Mon coeur comme un lys plein s'épanche,
Et je n'ose plus espérer,
Voici briller la lune blanche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J'attends encore son retour...
Quelqu'un monte à grands pas la rampe...
Serait-ce lui, mon doux amant?
Ce n'est pas lui, mais seulement
Mon petit page avec ma lampe...
Vents du soir, volez, dites-lui
Qu'il est ma pensée et mon rêve,
Toute ma joie et mon ennui.
Voici que l'aurore se lève,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J'attends encore son retour.
Authorship
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text),
listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Notes about green, red, and white dots  
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To the country where war is waged
Language:
English
To the country where war is waged
My beautiful love departed.
It seems to my desolate heart
That I alone remain on earth.
When leaving, at our kiss goodbye,
He took my soul from my mouth...
Who is holding him back so long, O God?
There is the sun setting.
And I, all alone in my tower,
I still await his return.
The pigeons on the roof are cooing,
Cooing lovingly
With a sad and charming sound;
The waters under the large willows flow...
I feel ready to cry;
My heart, like a full lily, overflows
And I no longer dare to hope.
Here gleams the white moon.
And I, all alone in my tower,
I still await his return.
Someone is climbing the ramp with heavy steps.
Could it be him, my sweet love?
It isn't him, but only
My little page with my lamp.
Evening winds, veiled, tell him
That he is my thoughts and my dream,
All my joy and my longing.
Here is the dawn rising.
And I, all alone in my tower,
I still await his return.
Authorship
 Translation from French to English copyright © by Victoria de Menil, demenil (AT) fas.harvard.edu, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. Please contact the copyright-holder when requesting permission to reprint.
Based on
Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
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