Texts of the Neapolitan songs

E 'a sera, sott' ô pasteno
D' 'e mmele annurche, passa
'Stu core sempe giovane
Ca ride e c'arrepassa.

E 'a luna, pazziannose,
'Nu ramo e 'n'atu ramo,
'Nterra, cu 'e file d'evera,
Ricama 'nu ricamo.

Oje Stella, Stè, c'aspiette 'nu signale,
'O ggrano ammaturato è culor d'oro.
E 'sti capille tuoje sò tale e quale
E 'o ssaje ca i' mme ne moro,
Si, 'mmiez' ô ggrano,
Nun m' 'e ffaje vasà.

Quanno 'e marite dormono,
Stracque 'e fatica ancora,
Ll'ammore ca sta pesole,
Sceglie 'a quartata 'e ll'ora.

'St'arille comme cantano
Sott'a 'sta luna chiara!
E comm'addora 'o ccanape
Pe' tuorno a 'sta pagliara!

Oje Stella, Stè, c'aspiette 'nu signale,
'O ggrano ammaturato è culor d'oro.
E 'sti capille tuoje sò tale e quale
E 'o ssaje ca i' mme ne moro,
Si, 'mmiez' ô ggrano,
Nun m' 'e ffaje vasà.

Ma tu nun duorme, è inutile,
'Stu core tujo me sente
Quanno, pe' sott'a ll'albere,
Passo annascostamente.

E ghiesce fore, pallida,
Bella comm'a nisciuna.
E 'a luna, zenniannoce,
Cuffea… 'sta 'mpesa 'e luna.

Oje Stella, Stè, c'aspiette 'nu signale,
'O ggrano ammaturato è culor d'oro.
E 'sti capille tuoje sò tale e quale
E 'o ssaje ca i' mme ne moro,
Si, 'mmiez' ô ggrano,
Nun m' 'e ffaje vasà.

In the evening at plantation
Under the apple-trees
Goes my heart, always young,
That enjoys and amuses itself.

And the moon, playing
With branches of trees,
Draws a pattern
On the earth with a grass.

Oh, Stella, Stella, you wait for a sign,
The mature wheat has a golden colour.
And your hair has the same colour
And you know I die
If in the middle of the wheat
You don't let me kiss it.

When the husbands are sleeping,
Tired of their job,
Love shoots its arrows
After midnight.

How crickets are singing
Under this bright moon!
And how the hemp is smelling
Around this haystack!

Oh, Stella, Stella, you wait for a sign,
The mature wheat has a golden colour.
And your hair has the same colour
And you know I die
If in the middle of the wheat
You don't let me kiss it.

But you don't sleep, it's useless,
Your heart feels me,
When under the trees
I'm slinking secretly.

And you come out, pallid,
Beautiful like no one.
And the moon, winking,
Jokes with us... this moon.

Oh, Stella, Stella, you wait for a sign,
The mature wheat has a golden colour.
And your hair has the same colour
And you know I die
If in the middle of the wheat
You don't let me kiss it.