Sire, quand la chère,
jeunesse perdue,
terni son teint, ses beautés chues,
sēro ira semer ses fleurs,
daignez qu’elle
chante ainsi, Seigneur.
(from the CD "Divine Amarillis", Donna Stewart singing)
[Samples from lovely Lemonflower linked-to here:
http://worldofdrjustice.blogspot.com/2011/11/cappella.html ]
Footnote:
The lovely sung version of Ronsard's classic poem, linked-to above, is evidently by an anglophone. That aspect obtruded itself not at all: rather, a woman in the sweet twilight of life, whose interpretation recalled the sensitive renditions of the elusive Miss Coffeescup (to use her other alias). It left nothing to be desired. In particular, once you have acquired the spirit of a language, not being its native speaker little hampers you in interpreting its music -- especially as, in this case, the language is Old French (of which our songstress is well aware: note how she sings, historically accurately, avouait for avait), which no-one in our day, intra- or extra-Hexagonally, any longer speaks.
And yet and yet ... The following popped up, in the course of surfing; and though, musically and aesthetically, one is entitled to one's own opinion, I could not but note, that the singer must needs be, without a doubt, a born-and-bred Frenchman:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLjAFvBwlyk
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