The sweet peace

It is peace, it is the sweet peace,

the maternal and fertile peace,

Which smiles under all the aspects

Of nature -- white, or green, or golden!

It is peace, it's the sweet peace.

It is peace with hands of gold,

It is peace with rosy face

And which permits on its altar

Only the blood of the vine and the blood of the rose,

It is the immortal peace, dear to all mortals!

Without bitterness, once recalled

It returns, with its great lenient gesture,

Always so young, so beautiful,

And carrying the silver olive branch.

It was exiled to the land of fantasy

There it is recognized, it has mended its rank.

And like the children who recover their mother

We are thrown crying into its arms!

It is peace, it is the sweet peace,

The maternal and fertile peace,

We sing under the thick branches

And we lead the singing of the round

Around the world!