La Primavera

It is almost officially and ontologically Spring...well, I have no idea if I used that word correctly, but I get points for trying. I am posting Vivaldi's Spring movement just in case Michigan weather has any other wayward ideas about which season it is about to be. Thanks to wiki I just found out each movement is meant to accompany four sonnets, most likely written by Vivaldi. The Spring sonnet is just below.




La Primavera

Allegro
Giunt' è la Primavera e festosetti Springtime is upon us.
La Salutan gl' Augei con lieto canto birds celebrate her return with festive song
E i fonti allo Spirar de' Zeffiretti murmuring streams are softly
Con dolce mormorio Scorrono intanto caressed by the breezes
Vengon' coprendo l' aer di nero amanto Thunderstorms, heralds of Spring, roar
E Lampi, e tuoni ad annuntiarla eletti casting their dark mantle over heaven,
Indi tacendo questi, gl' Augelletti Then they die away to silence
Tornan' di nuovo al lor canoro incanto birds return to their charming songs once more.

Largo
E quindi sul fiorito ameno prato On the flower-strewn meadow
Al caro mormorio di fronde e piante with leafy branches rustling overhead
Dorme 'l Caprar col fido can' à lato. goat-herd sleeps, his faithful dog beside him

Allegro
Di pastoral Zampogna al suon festante Led by the festive sound of bagpipes
Danzan Ninfe e Pastor nel tetto amato nymphs and shepherds lightly dance
Di primavera all' apparir brillante. beneath the brilliant canopy of spring

**not an excellent translation. I just found it on wikipedia.

The Vivaldi poem is ok, but how could I forget my favorite Spring-themed poem. The Prologue to the Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. The poem goes on, but this how far I've memorized.

Whan that Aprill with his shoures sote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne;
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open yë—
So priketh hem Nature in hir corages—
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...