by
Nikolaus Lenau (1802 - 1850)
Stille wird's im Walde; die lieben...
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): CAT ENG FRE ITA
Stille wird's im Walde; die lieben kleinen
Sänger prüfen schaukelnd den Ast, der durch die
Nacht dem neuen Fluge sie trägt, den neuen
Liedern entgegen.
Bald versinkt die Sonne; des Waldes Riesen
Heben höher sich in die Lüfte, um noch
Mit des Abends flüchtigen Rosen sich ihr
Haupt zu bekränzen.
Schon verstummt die Matte; den satten Rindern
Selten nur enthallt das Geglock am Halse,
Und es pflückt der wählende Zahn nur lässig
Dunklere Gräser.
Und dort blickt der schuldlos Hirt der Sonne
Sinnend nach; dem Sinnenden jetzt entfallen
Flöt und Stab, es falten die Hände sich zum
Stillen Gebete.
About the headline (FAQ)
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "It grows quiet in the wood", copyright ©
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 99
It grows quiet in the wood
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
It grows quiet in the wood; the dear little
singers on the swinging branch,
which through the night will bear their new flights,
experiment with new songs.
Soon the sun begins to descend; the giants
of the wood lift themselves higher into air, so that
with the evening's fluttering roses they
may wreathe their heads.
Already the meadow is silent;
only seldom can you hear the ringing from their necks,
and their choosy teeth pick
casually only the darker grass.
And there the guileless herdsman gazes
pensively after the sun;
flute and stick now drop from the reflecting man's hands
and he folds them for a silent prayer.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust
Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:
Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
from the LiederNet Archive -- https://www.lieder.net/
For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.
licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 109