Les passantes [English translation]

I want to dedicate this poem,

To all the women we love,

During a few secret moments,

To the ones we barely know,

That a different fate carries away,

And that we never meet again.

To the one we see appearing,

One second at the window,

And whom, nimble, fades out,

But whose svelt figure

Is so gracious and slender

That we remain radiant.

To the journey companion,

Whose eyes, charming landscape,

Turn the path shorter;

That we are the only one, maybe, to understand,

And still let her walk out

Without grazing her hand.

To the ones already taken,

And whom, living grey hours,

Next to a being too different,

Let you, useless folly,

See the melancholy

Of a hopeless future.

Dear images glanced,

Hopes of a deceived day,

You will be in oblivion tomorrow;

As soon as happiness comes,

It is rare to remember,

Episodes of the path.

But if one missed his life,

He thinks with a bit of envy

To all those delights glimpsed,

To the kisses we dared not take,

To the hearts must awaiting,

To th eyes never seen again.

Then, upon weariness nights,

While populating one's solitude

Of the ghosts of memories,

We cry for the absent lips

Of all those beautiful passer-by

We couldn't hold back.

• Artist:Francis Cabrel