Target, my Jules,
This scoundrel
Who falls into our arms
Since the time
We began to wait for him,
Like a bomb, here he is.
Here he is: spring,
Everything flowering with lilacs
Who come around dancing,
Dancing the java.
Here he is, this thug,
To the sound of the accordion
Which searches for love
Pushing its song.
Listen how he heckles
All of those with throbbing hearts.
Winter draws straws.
At last, spring. . .
Don't shake your head.
You'd be a real idiot
To worry and fret
When, above all lands
Floats a little air
Of revolution.
For you, I took out
My silk dress,
My baubles
To sleep on the grass,
Listening to to the lilies tinkle. . .
Target, my Jules,
This scoundrel
Who falls into our arms
Since the time
We began to wait for him,
Like a bomb, here he is.
Here he is: spring,
Everything flowering with lilacs
Who come around dancing,
Dancing the java.
There's a crowd in the streets
Following the fanfares
With naked shoulders
And everyone's on their balconies.
It's the poets' festival,
And I love you madly
And that runs in my head.
Finally, spring. . .
I get vertigo looking in your eyes.
I do acrobatics in the blue,
I see double and it's better.
Target my heart, all the way up there. . .
Which is behaving like a kite.
Catch it, if you can,
My love, my love
Who's going on the lam. . .
Finally spring!