Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Jean Ferrat - Louis Aragon - When comes the evening


Original title: "Lorsque s'en vient le soir"

When comes the evening which turns through the door
To live suddenly has the depth of a wheat field
I find you back, love, with my trembled hands
Which make the tender soil between the dead leaves
And we get rid of our stolen clothes

Nothing calmed those hands that I have to know you
Keeping from the first evening that turmoil of touching you
I find you back, love, sought for a long time
As if suddenly a window were to open
And if you gave up to always hide yourself

I am forever your scene and your theatre
Where the curtain of loving takes off anywhere
The star snows in me its eternal month of August
Nothing calmed that heart to beat when seeing you
It ends up hurting me and nothing is as sweet to me

Yet you are still to me the furtive passer-by
Who we hold back miraculously at the bend of a moment
Nothing calmed my fear, I doubt and I wait for you
God lose the steps he makes when you are absent to me
A look is sufficient for you to make a beautiful weather

When comes the evening which turns through the door
To live suddenly has the depth of a wheat field
I find you back love with my trembled hands
Which make the tender soil between the dead leaves
And we get rid of our stolen clothes


all poems written by Louis Aragon

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