EUROVISIONs GOLD-Sleep My Love 1958

Enchants, “Dors, mon amour,” night of romance. Long ago, he crooned, put hearts in a trance. André Claveau, nearing fifty years old, effulgence of French lips, Eurovision’s gold. Some audience, annoyed, at love’s deep sleep - need be left alone, or for love to leap… The words, that poetically churn, nonsense to the incensed, these verses of suspense. Sleep, my love - will she awake or’s love passed? He’s locked his princess in tower of past. The contentment, of love, some find boring - nuances “ever-after” adoring. 1958, Giraud and Delanoë, do stare into the lover’s peace and joy. Sleep is in the hollow of his heart. She is together with him all night, in lee. It is not just in movement, we give praise, for the hope of birdsong clings to dusk’s blaze. “With all the refrains of the night,” heart beats. “The sun is still far from daylight,” its sweets. Poet might interpret eternal love as in moment or forever “above.” Such love is felt so deep and stirred in sleep It’s present in a Frenchman’s tongue. I weep.