가사: Michael Bolton. Pourquoi Me Reveiller.
:
(Werther) (Why do you wake me now?)
Pourquoi me reveiller, o souffle du printemos?
Sur mon front je sens tes caresses.
Et pourtant bien proche est le temps
Des orages et des tristesses.
Demain, dans le vallon,
Se souvenant de ma gloire premiere,
Et ses yeux vainement chercheront ma splendeur:
Ils ne trouveront plus que deuil et que misere!
Helas! Pourquoi me reveiller, o souffle du printemps?
SYNOPSES
Werther is madly in love with Charlotte, his friends wife. To forget her, he has run away. But when he returns, he finds he is more in love than ever. Werther recites a favorite poem for Charlotte, and at last realizes that fatal truth: Charlotte can never return his love.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
Why do you wake me now, o sweetest breath of spring?
On my brow I sense your most gentle caress,
yet how soon creeps on the time.
filled with tempests and with distress!
Tomorrow through the vale, the traveler will pass,
recalling all of the glory of the past.
And in vain he will search for the bloom of my youth,
and nothing will he find but deep pain and endless sorrow.
Alas! Why do you wake me now, o sweetest breath of spring!
(Werther) (Why do you wake me now?)
Pourquoi me reveiller, o souffle du printemos?
Sur mon front je sens tes caresses.
Et pourtant bien proche est le temps
Des orages et des tristesses.
Demain, dans le vallon,
Se souvenant de ma gloire premiere,
Et ses yeux vainement chercheront ma splendeur:
Ils ne trouveront plus que deuil et que misere!
Helas! Pourquoi me reveiller, o souffle du printemps?
SYNOPSES
Werther is madly in love with Charlotte, his friends wife. To forget her, he has run away. But when he returns, he finds he is more in love than ever. Werther recites a favorite poem for Charlotte, and at last realizes that fatal truth: Charlotte can never return his love.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
Why do you wake me now, o sweetest breath of spring?
On my brow I sense your most gentle caress,
yet how soon creeps on the time.
filled with tempests and with distress!
Tomorrow through the vale, the traveler will pass,
recalling all of the glory of the past.
And in vain he will search for the bloom of my youth,
and nothing will he find but deep pain and endless sorrow.
Alas! Why do you wake me now, o sweetest breath of spring!
Bolton Michael