Bonne nuit, merci !

Traduction de la 1re partie, avec les compliments de DeepL :

Sur l'herbe de la falaise, au bord du précipice,
Dieu a planté un jardin – un jardin de sommeil !
Sous le bleu du ciel, dans la verdure des champs de blé,
C'est là que naissent les majestueux coquelicots rouges !
Brèves journées de désir, et longs rêves de délice,
Ils sont miens quand le Pays des Coquelicots apparaît à l'horizon.
Au son d’une musique lointaine, les yeux embués,
C’est là que je me souviens, et là que j’oublie !
Ô cœur de mon cœur ! Là où naissent les coquelicots,
Je t’attends, dans le silence des champs de blé.
Dors ! Dors !
De la falaise jusqu’aux profondeurs !
Dors, mon Pays des Coquelicots,
Dors !

Dans mon jardin du sommeil, où s’étendent les coquelicots rouges,
J’attends les vivants, seul avec les morts !
Car une tour en ruines monte la garde au-dessus des profondeurs,
Au pied de laquelle reposent les tombes verdoyantes de chères femmes endormies !
Aimaient-elles comme j’aime, lorsqu’elles vivaient au bord de la mer ?
Ont-elles attendu comme j’attends, les jours à venir ?
Était-ce l’espoir ou l’épanouissement qui envahissait chaque cœur,
Avant que la mort ne les libère, et que les coquelicots ne leur apportent le repos ?
Ô vie de ma vie ! Sur les falaises au bord de la mer,
Près des tombes dans l’herbe, je t’attends !
Dors ! Dors !
Dans la rosée des profondeurs !
Dors, mon pays de coquelicots,
Dors !

The Garden of Sleep

by Clement Scott

On the grass of the cliff, at the edge of the steep,
God planted a garden - a garden of sleep!
'Neath the blue of sky, in the green of the corn,
It is there that the regal red poppies are born!
Brief days of desire, and long dreams of delight,
They are mine when Poppy-Land cometh in sight.
In music of distance, with eyes that are wet,
It is there I remember, and there I forget!
O! heart of my heart! where the poppies are born,
I am waiting for thee, in the hush of the corn.
Sleep! Sleep!
From the Cliff to the Deep!
Sleep, my Poppy-Land,
Sleep!

In my garden of sleep, where red poppies are spread,
I wait for the living, alone with the dead!
For a tower in ruins stands guard o'er the deep,
At whose feet are green graves of dear women asleep!
Did they love as I love, when they lived by the sea?
Did they wait as I wait, for the days that may be?
Was it hope or fulfilling that entered each breast,
Ere death gave release, and the poppies gave rest?
O! life of my life! on the cliffs by the sea,
By the graves in the grass, I am waiting for thee!
Sleep! Sleep!
In the Dews of the Deep!
Sleep, my Poppy-Land,
Sleep!

Et :
A young woman (or a Spanish lady) is walking in a garden. A young man tries to court her:

Madam, I am come a'courting,
Hoping your favour I shall gain.
If you'll kindly entertain me,
Perhaps one day I'll call again.[2]

but she always answers "No". She explains that her father (or her husband) has recently gone to sea and before leaving told her always to say "No".:

The young man rephrases his questions, politely in Iowa:

Then while walking in the garden,
Plucking flowers all wet with dew,
Tell me, would you be offended
If I walk and talk with you?[3]

or improperly, in Somerset:

Madam shall I tie your garter
Shall I tie it above your knee?
If I should be little bolder
Would you think it rude of me?[4]

and all ends well, with the couple either in bed, on the way to being married or at least with the young woman offering some encouragement. There is often a chorus, such as

Oh dear oh! No! Sir No!
Still her answer to me was no![2]

In one English variant the chorus is a counting game:

With me twenty, eighteen, sixteen, fourteen, twelve, ten, eight, six, four, two, none,
Nineteen, seventeen, fifteen, thirteen, 'leven, nine, sev'n, five, three and one.[5]

This variant is sometimes called "Twenty, Eighteen".

The "Twenty, Eighteen" and "Ripest Apples" variants omit the father's command. Joe Jone's version of "The Ripest Apples" is a simple and brief conversation in which he offers her everything and she says:

For it's apples is ripe, but they soon gets rotten.
A young man's love that soon grows cold.
For it's what cares I for the world of pleasure?
But all I wants is an honest young man.[6]