Poem of the love and the sea

The Poem of the love and sea COp 19 is a composition for voice and Orchestre of Ernest Chausson, written between 1882 and 1892.

It forms part, with its perpetual Chanson of two major orchestral vocal works of the musician.

It is dedicated to Henri Duparc.

Its gestation was particularly long (nearly 10 years) and finishes on June 13rd 1892 for it. Slipper secondarily detached from them the four last stanzas of the second poem under the title the Time of the lilacs .

First takes place on February 21st 1893 with Brussels for the tenor Désiré Demest, the type-setter being with the Piano. The orchestral version is given on April 8th of the same year by the orchestra of the national company of music under the direction of Gabriel Marie, with Eléonore Blanc, soprano.

The texts are two poetries extracted the collection of the same name of Maurice Bouchor (1855 - 1929), a friend of the musician. They are separated by a short orchestral interlude. Slipper composed on the whole close to about fifteen melodies on poems this last.

Its execution lasts approximately a little less than thirty minutes.

Poems

The flower of water

The air is full with an exquisite odor of lilac,
Who, flowering the top of the walls jusques in bottom,
Embaument the hair of the femmes.
The sea with the large sun very will blaze up,
And on the fine sand which they come baiser
Roll of dazzling blades. O sky which of its eyes must carry the color,
Break which will sing in the lilacs in fleur
To leave there very embaumée,
Brooks, which will wet its dress,
O greens paths,
You who will tressaillerez under his dear small feet,
Show my beloved to me! And my heart rose by this morning of summer;
Because a beautiful child was on the shore,
Letting wander on me of the eyes full with clearness,
And which smiled me of a tender and wild air. You what transfigured Youth and the Love,
You appeared then to me like the heart of the things;
My heart flew towards you, you taken it without return,
And of the sky between open rained on us of the pinks. Which lamentable sound and sauvage
Will sound the hour of the good-bye!
The sea rolls on the shore,
Mocker, and worrying
little That it is the hour of the good-bye. Birds pass, the opened wing,
On the almost merry abyss;
With the large sun the sea is green,
And I bleed, quiet,
While looking at shining skies. I bleed by looking at my life
Who will move away on the floods;
My single heart is to me ravie
And clamor of the flots
sinks it Cover the noise of my sobs. Who knows if this cruel sea
Will bring back it towards my heart?
My glances are fixed on it;
The sea sings, and the wind moqueur
Scoff the anguish at my heart.

The death of the love

Soon the blue island and joyeuse
Among the rocks will appear to me;
The island on water silencieuse
As a water lily will float. Through the sea of améthyste
Gently slips the boat,
And I will be merry and triste
Of remembering me soon so much! The wind rolled the dead sheets;
My pensées
Rolled like died sheets,
In the night. Never so gently with the black sky did not have lui
Thousand gold pinks from which fall the dew!
An alarming dance, and ruffled sheets,
And which made a sound metal, valsaient,
Seemed to groan under stars, and disaient
Inexpressible horror of the loves trespassed. Large money beeches that the moon baisait
Were spectra: me, all my blood glaçait
While seeing my liked curiously to smile. As faces of dead our faces had faded,
And, dumb man, leaning me towards it, I pus lira
This fatal word written in its large eyes: the lapse of memory.

The time of the lilacs and the time of the roses
Will not return any more in this spring;
The time of the lilacs and the time of the roses
Passed, the time of the eyelets too. The wind changed, the skies are morose,
And we more will run, and will not gather
Lilacs in flower and beautiful pinks;
Spring is sad and cannot flower. Oh! merry and soft spring of the year,
Who wines, the year spent, us to shine upon,
Our flower of love is so well faded,
Mow! that your kiss cannot wake up it! And you, whom do you make? no hatched flowers,
Not merry sun nor of fresh shades;
The time of the lilacs and the time of the pinks
With our love died forever.

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