| CONTRERIMES - III | COUNTER-RIMES - III |
| Paul-Jean Toulet | trans. A.C.Clarke |
|
Iris, à son brillant mouchoir .........De sept feux illumine La molle averse qui chemine, .........Harmonieuse à choir. Ah, sur les roses de l'été, .........Sois la mouvante robe, Molle averse, qui me dérobe .........Leur aride beauté. Et vous, dont le rire joyeux .........M'a caché tant d'alarmes, Puisse-je voir enfin des larmes .........Monter jusqu'à vos yeux. | There's a rainbow lichtin' up the sky .........wi' her seven colours, lichtin' up the smirr that's taken the dust aff .........summer roses - awfu' bricht they are an' a stang i' the ee, that wee bit o rain's .........drawin' a veil. Yis, an that gaes for you, .........who's ay laughin', makkin' as if ye didnae care 'boot anythin' .........a'most, whan ah ken yer heart's burstin' wi' fear. Ah'd like fine .........tae see ye greet. |
For a translation into English click pftouco3.htm
Trans. Copyright © A.C.Clarke 2009