In Welschland, wo die braunen
Buben vom Straßenrand
In die heiße Bläue staunen,
Da bin ich wohl bekannt.
Dort wachsen schwarze Bäume
Wie Fackeln steil und schlank,
Die machen dir alle Träume
Von welscher Liebe krank.
Dort schlagen blaue Wellen
An [golden]1 braunen Stein,
Dir fallen dabei viel Stellen
Aus den schönsten Liedern ein.
Und wo drei Bäume stehen,
Das nennen sie einen Wald,
Darunter siehst du gehen
Manch schöne Frauengestalt.
Und wenn dir eine gegeben
Einen Kuß auf deinen Mund,
So bist du krank fürs Leben
Und wirst nicht mehr gesund.
Available sung texts: (what is this?)
• O. Schoeck Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada and the U.S., but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with Hermann Hesse, Sämtliche Werke, herausgegeben von Volker Michels, Band 10 Die Gedichte, bearbeitet von Peter Huber, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2002, pages 491-492.
1 Schoeck: "goldig"
Text 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) , "Informació", copyright © 2023, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Information", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Renseignement", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 93
In Italy, where at the side of the road
The brown lads stare in wonder
Into the hot blueness,
There I am well known.
Black trees grow there
Like steep and slender torches;
They will cause all your dreams
To sicken with Italian love.
There blue waves break
Upon golden brown rock;
You are thereby reminded of many passages
From the most beautiful songs.
And there where three trees stand,
They call that a forest;
Beneath them you see
Many a lovely woman walking.
And when one of them has given you
A kiss upon your lips,
Then you are sick for life
And shall never recover.
