Tosca: E lucevan le stelle

Le Vent Du Nord Dans Les Airs Le Berger The beauty is in prison of love For a month and six weeks Her father who has looking for her all over And her lover, is sad Must go and see the sheperd If he hasn’t se her, let him inform us Sheperd, sheperd haven’t you see her Here passing the beauty How was-she dressed? She was with silk and wool With a white satin underskirt And in her hands woollen gloves Oh! yes indeed yes I saw her Here passing the beauty In her right hand carrying a bird To whom the beauty told her sorrows Bird, bird you who is happy You who could speak to my Beauty Me who was her lover Who could merely speak to her Must we pass along a brook Unable to drink one ‘s thirsty Drink, drink, lovers drink! Hardly who can speak to her Must we pass along a rose bush Without picking the rose Pick, pick, lover pick For it is for you that rose open