The English version presented below is a literal, word-for-word translation. It attempts to preserve the poet's word order as far as possible, for a better appreciation of the composer's musical treatment of individual words and phrases. Download track from iTunes.

Pour le jour des Hyacinthies,
Il m’a donné une syrinx faite
De roseaux bien taillés,
Unis avec la blanche cire
Qui est douce à mes lèvres comme le miel.

Il m’apprend à jouer, assise sur ses genoux;
Mais je suis un peu tremblante.
Il en joue après moi, si doucement
Que je l’entends à peine.

Nous n’avons rien à nous dire,
Tant nous sommes près l’un de l’autre;
Mais nos chansons veulent se répondre,
Et tour à tour nos bouches
S’unissent sur la flûte.

Il est tard;
Voici le chant des grenouilles vertes
Qui commence avec la nuit.
Ma mère ne croira jamais
Que je suis restée si longtemps
A chercher ma ceinture perdue.

Pierre Louÿs

For the festival of Hyacinthus
He gave me a syrinx [a set of pipes], made
From well-cut reeds
Joined with the white wax
That is sweet to my lips like honey.

He is teaching me to play, as I sit on his knees;
But I tremble a little.
He plays it after me, so softly
That I can scarcely hear it.

We have nothing to say to one another,
So close to each other are we;
But our songs want to converse,
And our mouths are joined
As they take turns on the pipes.

It is late:
Here comes the song of the green frogs,
Which begins at dusk.
My mother will never believe
That I spent so long
Searching for my lost waistband.