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Die Mühle

Language: German (Deutsch) after the Plattdeutsch

   Der Tag geht ins Grab,
Der Thau fällt herab,
Den Himmel färbt rosige Gluth.
Nun ist es so still --
Weiß nicht, was ich will --
Ich glaub', mir ist traurig zu Muth.

   Der Frosch quakt im Rohr,
Der Fuchs braut im Moor,
Von Ferne schallt froher Gesang.
Mein Herz steigt zur Höh',
Weiß nicht, was ich seh',
Die Thrän' fließt die Wange entlang.

   Dort hinter der Weid'
Weit hinter der Heid',
Da blinkt eine Mühle empor;
Mich dünkt, ich wär' dort,
Und säß' an der Pfort'
Auf dem Mühlberg und spielte davor.

   Dann schaut aus dem Haus
Ein Alter heraus,
Dem saß ich so oft auf dem Arm;
Der Stein lief und klang,
Der Mann saß und sang,
Der Himmel war rosig und warm.

   Da war ich noch klein --
Nun bin ich allein --
Wer weiß, ob er dorten noch steht?
Die Luft ist so schaurig,
Das Lied ist so traurig --
Gottlob, daß die Mühl' doch noch geht!

Translation(s): ENG

List of language codes

Confirmed with Klaus Groth's Quickborn. Volksleben in plattdeutschen Gedichten ditmarscher Mundart. Ins Hochdeutsche übertrangen von F.A. Hoffmann, Braunschweig: Druck und Verlag von Friedrich Vieweg und Sohn, 1856, pages 79-80.

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]


Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , title 1: "The mill", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Text added to the website: 2014-02-13.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:05:29
Line count: 30
Word count: 157

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The mill

Language: English after the German (Deutsch)

   The day sinks into its grave,
The dew falls,
The sky is bathed in a rosy glow.
Now it is so quiet --
I know not what I want --
I believe that I am sad.

   The frog croaks in the reeds,
The fox is skulking about on the moor,
In the distance I hear joyful singing.
My heart rises to the heights,
I know not what I see,
The tear courses down my cheek.

   There behind the willow,
Far beyond the moorland,
There a mill rises up:
It seems as if I were there
Sitting at the gate
Upon the mill-hill and playing in front [of the mill].

   The from out of the house,
An old man looks out,
He so often held me upon his arm;
The mill-stone ran and clanked,
The man sat and sang,
The heavens were rosy and warm.

   I was still small then --
Now I am alone,
Who knows if he still stands there?
The air is so eerie,
The song is so sad --
Praise God that the mill is still working!

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  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2014 by Sharon Krebs, (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.


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Based on
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Text added to the website: 2014-02-13.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:05:29
Line count: 30
Word count: 177