DuparcJ.P. Ziolo
Henri Duparc
French composer
Henri Duparc, original name Henri Fouques-duparc (born Jan. 21, 1848, Paris, Fr.—died Feb. 12, 1933, Mont-de-Marsan), French composer known for his original and lasting songs on poems of Charles Baudelaire, Leconte de Lisle, Théophile Gautier, and others.
Duparc studied with César Franck at the Jesuit College of Vaugirard. In 1869 he met Franz Liszt and Richard Wagner at Weimar and in 1870 published five songs (Cinq Mélodies, Opus 2). Two of them, “Soupir” and “Chanson triste,” were later incorporated in his collection of songs, written between 1868 and 1884, including eight with orchestral accompaniment. In these songs, Duparc enlarged the French song into a scena, or opera-like scene, and brought to it a poetic sense of musical prosody and a symphonic conception of form. In his youth Duparc wrote two orchestral works, Aux Étoiles (To the Stars) and Lénore, and a motet. He was also keenly interested in Russian literature, planning an opera, Roussalka, based on a narrative poem by Aleksandr Pushkin. About 1890 his creative faculties began to be undermined by doubts, and he thereafter produced little. In a spirit of severe self-criticism, he destroyed nearly all his subsequent works and sketches, together with his earlier unpublished manuscripts and the correspondence addressed to him by Wagner and contemporary poets. During the latter part of his life he was associated with two French Catholic writers, Francis Jammes and Paul Claudel, and composed the song “Testament” (1906–13), the text of which is a prose prayer.
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Henri-Duparc
Au pays où se fait la guerre
Mon bel ami s’en est allé.
Il semble à mon cœur désolé
Qu’il ne reste que moi sur terre.
En partant au baiser d’adieu,
Il m’a pris mon âme à ma bouche…
Qui le tient si longtemps, mon Dieu ?
Voilà le soleil qui se couche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
Les pigeons sur le toit roucoulent,
Roucoulent amoureusement,
Avec un son triste et charmant;
Les eaux sous les grands saules coulent…
Je me sens tout près de pleurer,
Mon cœur comme un lys plein s’épanche,
Et je n’ose plus espérer,
Voici briller la lune blanche,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
Quelqu’un monte à grands pas la rampe…
Serait-ce lui, mon doux amant ?
Ce n’est pas lui, mais seulement
Mon petit page avec ma lampe…
Vents du soir, volez, dites-lui
Qu’il est ma pensée et mon rêve,
Toute ma joie et mon ennui.
Voici que l’aurore se lève,
Et moi toute seule en ma tour
J’attends encore son retour.
https://www.antiwarsongs.org/canzone.php?id=8668