Spring.
astronomical point of view, in the northern hemisphere, spring runs from February 7 to May 7
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wi ki / Printemps_des_peuples
astronomical point of view, in the northern hemisphere, spring runs from February 7 to May 7
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wi
* Gerard de Nerval (1808-1855) The doctrinaire To Victor Hugo . ..
I
Oh! the Twenty-July 7, when colors cherished
Happy, fluttered on the roofs asleep
After the Louvre and the Tuileries
We had hunted the enemies!
The strongest was done ... that night was beautiful!
Near entrenchment in our hands high
How proud we were to guard
In treading the unpaved ground!
O night of independence and glory and celebration!
Nothing above us ...
not a government did not yet dare show his head: As
felt at any time
spirit unfold into huge ideas ...
It was seven cubits high ... And they breathed
widely!
II
This is not the license, alas! I ask
But then if someone had told us that soon
this freedom, which arose wide,
It would put the jersey on! ... That
Ministers retrograde
Inhabitants of palaces still unwashed
Pure blood of our comrades would
Do the barricades of paving stones
That inconvenience! ...
They were therefore not there, these men who, perhaps
Apostles secretly hated power, Ont
aloud denied their master
Since the rooster crowed! ... They have
not seen under fire
Walk the ranks of a vengeful people disarmed ...
In the fierce heat of battle
Their eyes did point on!
III
What! Abroad, laughing so vain glory, so much hope
annihilated
When asked about the great week,
say: "You have lied?"
All because of them! At the point where we are ...
From despotism still ... it's impossible ... Non
Down! Down So little men!
We saw Napoleon!
Small! - Thou hast well said, Victor, when the Corsican
Your voice evoked the specter they feared
Showing that it is given only to men of his force
Violate Freedom!
is the last and we can never predict
And no human power will stir
Do this globe of the Empire
it imprisoned in his hand!
IV
And when all is done ... that France indignant
Aura well shaken these cobwebs
What fools still want to tender;
Do we sing again, Victor,
Him, we love so much, alas! despite
crimes that are, for a vain and cold Majesty
To have repudiated sublime two wives, Josephine and
Freedom!
But we sing a hymn universal, immense,
Who by France, Belgium and Castile begins
National Anthem for the entire nation
That alone, one, Liberty inspires you, That every revolution
Tende a rope of thy lyre!
1830
I
Oh! the Twenty-July 7, when colors cherished
Happy, fluttered on the roofs asleep
After the Louvre and the Tuileries
We had hunted the enemies!
The strongest was done ... that night was beautiful!
Near entrenchment in our hands high
How proud we were to guard
In treading the unpaved ground!
O night of independence and glory and celebration!
Nothing above us ...
not a government did not yet dare show his head: As
felt at any time
spirit unfold into huge ideas ...
It was seven cubits high ... And they breathed
widely!
II
This is not the license, alas! I ask
But then if someone had told us that soon
this freedom, which arose wide,
It would put the jersey on! ... That
Ministers retrograde
Inhabitants of palaces still unwashed
Pure blood of our comrades would
Do the barricades of paving stones
That inconvenience! ...
They were therefore not there, these men who, perhaps
Apostles secretly hated power, Ont
aloud denied their master
Since the rooster crowed! ... They have
not seen under fire
Walk the ranks of a vengeful people disarmed ...
In the fierce heat of battle
Their eyes did point on!
III
What! Abroad, laughing so vain glory, so much hope
annihilated
When asked about the great week,
say: "You have lied?"
All because of them! At the point where we are ...
From despotism still ... it's impossible ... Non
Down! Down So little men!
We saw Napoleon!
Small! - Thou hast well said, Victor, when the Corsican
Your voice evoked the specter they feared
Showing that it is given only to men of his force
Violate Freedom!
is the last and we can never predict
And no human power will stir
Do this globe of the Empire
it imprisoned in his hand!
IV
And when all is done ... that France indignant
Aura well shaken these cobwebs
What fools still want to tender;
Do we sing again, Victor,
Him, we love so much, alas! despite
crimes that are, for a vain and cold Majesty
To have repudiated sublime two wives, Josephine and
Freedom!
But we sing a hymn universal, immense,
Who by France, Belgium and Castile begins
National Anthem for the entire nation
That alone, one, Liberty inspires you, That every revolution
Tende a rope of thy lyre!
1830
* Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)
Turn, turn, good wooden horses,
turn a hundred times, turn a thousand times,
Turn often and always turn,
Turn Turn the sound of the oboe. The child
all red and white mother,
The guy in black and the girl in pink, One in
and another thing to ask,
Everyone pays a penny from Sunday.
Turn, turn, horses with their heart, while all around
your tournaments
Blinks the eye of the sneaky thief,
Turn to the piston winner!
It's amazing how it intoxicates you
To go well in this circus beast:
While in the stomach and an aching head,
mass of evil and good in crowds.
Turn the sound of the accordion,
violin, trombone crazy
Horses softer than sheep, soft
As a people revolution.
The wind whipping the tent, glass, zinc and
The tricolor,
And the petticoats, and whatnot?
Makes a thunderous roar of five hundred.
Turn, hobbies, there is no need to use
never spurs
To order your gallop:
Turn, turn, without hope of hay.
And hurry, horses of their soul
Already here that rings the soup
The night falls and the gang hunt gays drinkers
In their thirst starve.
Turn, Turn! The velvet sky with golden stars
OF slowly pricked.
The church bell tolls mournfully.
Turn to the joyful drums!
Turn, turn, good wooden horses,
turn a hundred times, turn a thousand times,
Turn often and always turn,
Turn Turn the sound of the oboe. The child
all red and white mother,
The guy in black and the girl in pink, One in
and another thing to ask,
Everyone pays a penny from Sunday.
Turn, turn, horses with their heart, while all around
your tournaments
Blinks the eye of the sneaky thief,
Turn to the piston winner!
It's amazing how it intoxicates you
To go well in this circus beast:
While in the stomach and an aching head,
mass of evil and good in crowds.
Turn the sound of the accordion,
violin, trombone crazy
Horses softer than sheep, soft
As a people revolution.
The wind whipping the tent, glass, zinc and
The tricolor,
And the petticoats, and whatnot?
Makes a thunderous roar of five hundred.
Turn, hobbies, there is no need to use
never spurs
To order your gallop:
Turn, turn, without hope of hay.
And hurry, horses of their soul
Already here that rings the soup
The night falls and the gang hunt gays drinkers
In their thirst starve.
Turn, Turn! The velvet sky with golden stars
OF slowly pricked.
The church bell tolls mournfully.
Turn to the joyful drums!
Freedom of expression does not wear that if you do not use it 
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