Le Théatre de la Nature - Acte I : Le Combat

Orakle

Compositor: Não Disponível

O my great nature
How I admire thee
Winter's not as it was foreseen
Cold disappeared, no sign from the white queen
So how are you going to enravel me again ?

This a struggle I behold
From the very depths of my lair
Lone privileged in my art
Those trees' rectitude and solidity
Facing the wind's immense might...

Ohh! The sublime unveils my fears
Of a hidden truth... The clarity of an error
Nature has just spoken...

Blow! blow! Will the blows thou strike
Surpass the strenght of the oaks ?
Harmoniously bent, as to show thee
That they still stand unscared...

Then rain came blending with disorder, crowned
Flying, whirling under the northwind's blow
As a foe wondering about the side
Gently giving itself to the reigning squalls
Its droplets tenderly broke
Upon the great Oak's bark...

Among this union of sights and sounds
My spirit meditates, hark and observe
The great oak suffers - facing the gusts
The noble wind gets out of breath - with its strikes...