The most beautiful sign of love never came to fruition It was in a dream of a mother With a poor Parisian student It should have shone for the elders And forced them up and down And each one should have in his heart A new, a new muse He should have wandered in the meadows With a glance at a high mountain And sung violins and whistles Now, one night in April The most beautiful sign of love Never came to fruition It was in a dream of a mother With a poor Parisian student
