Arquivo da categoria: Marcelo Tápia

Star-Filled Night

Star-Filled Night

Late at night and stars all beaming;
Oh the stillness seems like dreaming
Of a flowing forest river
Like a pouring rain of silver
Splendid moonlight from above.

Though you’re sleeping, it is you who
I´m singing of,
While the moon in all its glory
Can’t but hear the tearful story
Of this love.

Moonlight,
With your silver sheen above me,
Wake this woman oh so lovely.
Oh what longing, ardent yearning,
As my lips for hers keep burning.

Can’t you
Hear me singing as she’s sleeping?
She won’t hear my heart is leaping.
Oh can’t you see?
No, the moon is not sorry for me;
Just because on calling you I insist,
She hides behind the mystic mist.

Now the moon shines with disdain there,
And she´s so pensive and so vain there,
And the stars that seem so calm rise
Like a dizzy flood of fire-flies
O’er the glossy silver moon.

All the starry sky fell silent
To hear the tune,
With your name in the refrain
In complaints so full of pain
To the moon.

Late at night and stars all beaming;
Oh the stillness seems like dreaming
Of a flowing forest river
Like a pouring rain of silver
Splendid moonlight from above.

Though you’re sleeping, it is you who
I´m singing of,
While the moon in all its glory
Can’t but hear the tearful story
Of this love.

Moonlight,
With your silver sheen above me,
Wake this woman oh so lovely.
Oh what longing, ardent yearning,
As my lips for hers keep burning.

Can’t you
Hear me singing as she’s sleeping?
She won’t hear my heart is leaping.
Oh can’t you see?
No, the moon is not sorry for me;
Just because on calling you I insist,
She hides behind the mystic mist.

Now the moon shines with disdain there,
And she´s so pensive and so vain there,
And the stars that seem so calm rise
Like a dizzy flood of fire-flies
O’er the glossy silver moon.

All the starry sky fell silent
To hear the tune,
With your name in the refrain
In complaints so full of pain
To the moon.

Noite Cheia de Estrelas

Noite alta, céu risonho;
A quietude é quase um sonho.
O luar cai sobre a mata
Qual uma chuva de prata
De raríssimo esplendor.

Só tu dormes, não escutas
O teu cantor,
Revelando à lua airosa
A história dolorosa
Deste amor.

Lua,
Manda a tua luz prateada
Despertar a minha amada.
Quero matar os meus desejos,
Sufocá-la com meus beijos.

Canto,
E a mulher que eu amo tanto
Não me escuta, está dormindo.
Canto e por fim
Nem a lua tem pena de mim,
Pois ao ver que quem te chama sou eu
Entre a neblina se escondeu.

Lá no alto a lua esquiva
Está no céu tão pensativa.
As estrelas tão serenas
Qual dilúvio de falenas
Andam tontas ao luar.

Todo o astral ficou silente,
Para escutar
O teu nome entre as endechas,
Tuas dolorosas queixas
Ao luar.

Música e letra de Cândido das Neves (Índio)
1928

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