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Nachts zu unbekannter Stunde

Language: German (Deutsch)

Nachts zu unbekannter Stunde
Flieht der liebe Lenz die Flur,
Küßt, was blüht, still in der Runde
Und verschwindet sonder Spur.

Rings von seinen Küssen prangen
Früh die Blumen hold verschämt,
Daß an ihrem Mund zu hangen,
Schmetterling sich nicht bezähmt.

Doch die Leute draußen sagen,
Daß der Lenz vorüber sei;
Und an wetterheißen Tagen
Kennt man Sommers Tyrannei.

Und wir denken dran beklommen,
Daß der Lenz so heimlich floh;
Daß er Abschied nicht genommen,
Ach! das läßt uns nimmer froh.

Also schmerzt es, geht das erste
Lieb ohn' Abschied von uns fort.
Ruhig trügen wir das Schwerste,
Spräch' sie aus das Scheidewort.


Translation(s): DUT ENG FRE

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About the headline (FAQ)

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

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):

  • DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Sharon Krebs) (Harald Krebs) , copyright © 2006, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Disparition secrète", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.

Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:43
Line count: 20
Word count: 103

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Disparition secrète

Language: French (Français) after the German (Deutsch)

De nuit à une heure inconnue
Le cher printemps s'enfuit de la prairie,
Il embrasse doucement ce qui fleurit aux alentours
Et disparaît sans laisser de trace.

Partout de ses baisers resplendissent
De bonne heure les fleurs en une beauté modeste,
Pour que les prendre de sa bouche
Le papillon ne se retienne pas.

Mais les gens là-bas disent
Que le printemps est fini :
Et que dans les jours de chaleur
On reconnaît la tyrannie de l'été.

Et nous pensons avec inquiétude
Que le printemps est parti si secrètement :
Qu'il n'a pas pris congé,
Hélas ! nous ne pourrons plus être heureux.

Cela fait aussi mal que quand le premier
Amour nous quitte sans un adieu.
Nous supporterions calmement la douleur
Si elle prononçait un mot d'adieu.


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Authorship

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to French (Français) copyright © 2013 by Guy Laffaille, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.

    Contact:

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Based on

 

Text added to the website: 2013-12-01.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:05:24
Line count: 20
Word count: 129