I.An die Nacht

Holy night! Holy night!

Star-enclosed sky-peace!

Everything that light divided

is connected;

all wounds

bleed sweetly in evening's red glow.

Bjelbog's spear, Bjelbog's spear

sinks into the heart of the drunken Earth,

which, with a blissful gesture,

dips a rose

in the womb

of dark desires.

Holy night! Demure bride, demure bride!

Hide your sweet shame

when the wedding goblet's fullness

is poured out;

thus flows,

into the lustful night, day!

II. Ich wollt’ ein Sträusslein binden

I meant to make you a posy,

But dark night then came,

There were no flowers to be found,

Or I’d have brought you some.

Tears then flowed down my cheeks

Into the clover,

And now I saw a flower

That had sprung up in the garden.

I meant to pick it for you

There in the dark clover,

When it started to speak:

‘Ah, do no hurt me!

Be kind in your heart,

Consider you own suffering,

And do not make me die

In torment before my time!’

And had it not spoken these words,

All alone in the garden,

I’d have picked it for you,

But now that cannot be.

My sweetheart stayed away,

I am utterly alone.

Sadness dwells in loving,

And cannot be otherwise.

III. Säus’le, liebe Myrte!

Rustle, dear myrtle!

How silent the world is,

The moon, that shepherd of the stars,

In the bright Elysian fields,

Already drives the herd of clouds

To the spring of light,

Sleep, my friend, ah sleep,

Till I am with you again!

‘Rustle, dear myrtle!

And dream in the starlight,

The turtledove has already cooed

Her brood to sleep.

Quietly the herd of clouds travel

To the spring of light,

Sleep, my friend, ah sleep,

Till I am with you again!

‘Do you hear the fountains murmur?

Do you hear the cricket chirping?

Hush, hush, let us listen,

Happy is he who dies while dreaming;

Happy he who is cradled by clouds,

While the moon sings a lullaby;

Ah, how happily he can fly,

Who takes flight in dreams,

So that from heaven’s blue vault

He gathers stars as though they were flowers;

Sleep, dream, fly, I shall wake

You soon and be made happy!’

IV. Als mir dein Lied erklang!

Your song rang out! I heard it

Soaring through roses to the moon,

The butterfly, flying brightly in Spring,

You have turned into a virtuous bee;

I yearn for the rose

Since your song rang out!

Your song rang out! The nightingales complain—

Ah! sweet swansong of my peace—

To the moon, who listens and looks down from heaven,

And I must complain to the stars and the roses,

To where she flew,

She for whom this song was sung!

Your song rang out! No note was in vain,

The entire Spring, breathing love,

Has, while you sang, immersed itself

In the passionate stream of my life,

At sunset,

As your song rang out!

V. Amor

An dem Feuer saß das Kind

Amor, Amor

Und war blind;

Mit dem kleinen Flügel fächelt

In die Flammen er und lächelt,

Fächelt, lächelt, schlaues Kind!

Ach, der Flügel brennt dem Kind!

Amor, Amor

Läuft geschwind!

„O wie ihn die Glut durchpeinet!“

Flügelschlagend laut er weinet;

In der Hirtin Schoß entrinnt

Hilfeschreiend das schlaue Kind.

Und die Hirtin hilft dem Kind,

Amor, Amor

Bös und blind.

Hirtin, sieh, dein Herz entbrennet,

Hast den Schelmen nicht gekennet.

Sieh, die Flamme wächst geschwinde.

Hüt dich vor dem schlauen Kind!

Fächle, lächle, schlaues Kind!

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005)