Tender and beautiful fronds
of my beloved plane tree,
may fate smile upon you.
May neither thunder, lightning, nor storms
disturb your dear peace,
and may you not be desecrated by ferocious winds.

Never was a shade
of any plant
dearer, more lovely,
or more sweet.

The grass is soft for sleep beneath the cool poplars
On the banks of the mossy springs
That flow in flowering meadows from a thousand sources,
And vanish beneath dark thickets.

Rest, O Phidylé! Noon on the leaves
Is gleaming, inviting you to sleep.
By the clover and thyme, alone, in the bright sunlight,
The fickle bees are humming.

A warm fragrance floats about the winding paths,
The red flowers of the cornfield droop;
And the birds, skimming the hillside with their wings,
Seek the shade of the eglantine.

But when the sun, low on its dazzling curve,
Sees its brilliance wane,
Let your loveliest smile and finest kiss
Reward me to for my waiting!

Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)

The manor of Rosamonde
With sudden and ravenous tooth,
Love like a dog has bitten me.
By following the blood I've shed -
Come, you'll be able to follow my trail.

Take a horse of fine breeding,
Set out, and follow my arduous course
By quagmire or by hidden path,
If the chase does not weary you.

Passing by where I have passed,
You will see that, solitary and wounded,
I have traversed this sorry world,
And that thus I went off to die
Far, far away, without ever finding
The blue manor of Rosamonde.

English Translation © Richard Stokes