Often on the mountain, in the shade of old oak
At sunset, I sit sadly, I
random walk my eyes on the plain, Whose
changing table takes place at my feet.
Here the river roars
the foaming waves;
It winds, sinking into a distant and obscure
There the motionless lake extends its backwaters
Where the evening star rises in the sky.
On top of these mountains crowned with dark woods, dusk still throws
The last rays;
And the misty chariot of the queen of shadows
Monte, and the edges of white already ahead.
However, springing from the Gothic spire, religious
sound spreads through the air:
The traveler stops and the bell sounds rustic
For the last day of saints mixed concerts.
But these sweet pictures my soul feels
indifferent to them or charm or transport;
I contemplate the earth and a wandering shadow
Le soleil des vivants n'échauffe plus les morts.
De colline en colline en vain portant ma vue,
Du sud à l'aquilon, de l'aurore au couchant,
Je parcours tous les points de l'immense étendue,
Et je dis : " Nulle part le bonheur ne m'attend. "
Que me font ces vallons, ces palais, ces chaumières,
Vains objets dont pour moi le charme est envolé ?
Fleuves, rochers, forêts, solitudes si chères,
Un seul être vous manque, et tout est dépeuplé !
Que le tour du soleil ou commence ou s'achève,
D'un oeil indifférent je le suis dans son cours ;
En un ciel sombre ou True he sets or rises, the sun
matter? I expect nothing days.
When I could follow him in his extensive career,
My eyes would see everywhere and empty deserts
I do not want none of that light;
I ask nothing of the vast universe.
But perhaps beyond the limits of his sphere,
Places where the sun shines true in other lands,
If I could leave my body to the earth,
What I have dreamed would seem to me !
There I was intoxicated at the source to which I aspire;
Here, I would find hope and and love,
And this ideal property that every soul desires,
And who does not name the land stay!
Why can not I, borne on the chariot of Aurora,
Wave object of my wishes, Be running up to you! On
exile why I still remained?
There is nothing in common between the earth and me.
when the sheet of wood falls on the Prairie
The evening breeze rises and snatches the valleys;
And I'm like the withered leaf:
Take me as her stormy north winds!
At sunset, I sit sadly, I
random walk my eyes on the plain, Whose
changing table takes place at my feet.
Here the river roars
the foaming waves;
It winds, sinking into a distant and obscure
There the motionless lake extends its backwaters
Where the evening star rises in the sky.
On top of these mountains crowned with dark woods, dusk still throws
The last rays;
And the misty chariot of the queen of shadows
Monte, and the edges of white already ahead.
However, springing from the Gothic spire, religious
sound spreads through the air:
The traveler stops and the bell sounds rustic
For the last day of saints mixed concerts.
But these sweet pictures my soul feels
indifferent to them or charm or transport;
I contemplate the earth and a wandering shadow
Le soleil des vivants n'échauffe plus les morts.
De colline en colline en vain portant ma vue,
Du sud à l'aquilon, de l'aurore au couchant,
Je parcours tous les points de l'immense étendue,
Et je dis : " Nulle part le bonheur ne m'attend. "
Que me font ces vallons, ces palais, ces chaumières,
Vains objets dont pour moi le charme est envolé ?
Fleuves, rochers, forêts, solitudes si chères,
Un seul être vous manque, et tout est dépeuplé !
Que le tour du soleil ou commence ou s'achève,
D'un oeil indifférent je le suis dans son cours ;
En un ciel sombre ou True he sets or rises, the sun
matter? I expect nothing days.
When I could follow him in his extensive career,
My eyes would see everywhere and empty deserts
I do not want none of that light;
I ask nothing of the vast universe.
But perhaps beyond the limits of his sphere,
Places where the sun shines true in other lands,
If I could leave my body to the earth,
What I have dreamed would seem to me !
There I was intoxicated at the source to which I aspire;
Here, I would find hope and and love,
And this ideal property that every soul desires,
And who does not name the land stay!
Why can not I, borne on the chariot of Aurora,
Wave object of my wishes, Be running up to you! On
exile why I still remained?
There is nothing in common between the earth and me.
when the sheet of wood falls on the Prairie
The evening breeze rises and snatches the valleys;
And I'm like the withered leaf:
Take me as her stormy north winds!
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