La bohemia [English translation]

Bohemian of Paris,

happy, crazy, and gray,

from a time now past,

where in an attic,

with a can-can suit

you would pose for me.

And I with devotion

would paint with passion

your fatigued body

till dawn,

at times without eating

and always without sleeping.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was love, happiness,

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was the flower of our age.

Under an oil lamp,

the café table

happily would reunite us

talking without stopping

dreaming of arriving

getting glory.

And when some painter

would find a buyer

and sell him a canvas,

we would often shout

with him and stroll

happily through Paris.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was playing, I saw you and I loved you.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

I could triumph together with you.

We had health,

a smile, youth

and nothing in our pockets.

Cold, hot,

the same good humor

danced in our thirst.

Fighting always the same

with hunger till the end

we made castles

and the yearning to live

made us resist

and not give out.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was to watch sunrise.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was to dream of a wanting.

Today I returned to Paris,

I crossed its gray fog,

I found it changed.

The lilacs are no longer there,

nor do violets of passion

rise from the attic.

Dreaming as yesterday

I wandered toward my workshop,

but they had demolished it

and put in its place

below it a café-bar

above it a boarding house.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

what I lived, its light is lost.

Bohemian, Bohemian,

it was a flower and finally died...