Die Lichter sind erloschen,
Die Nacht tritt in das Haus;
Die hellen Tagesgespenster
Erblassen und ziehen aus.
Vorüber ist der Becher,
Der mir Vergessen bot;
Mein Haupt ist grau, und alle,
Die ich geliebt, sind tot.
Ich hülle mich in den Purpur
Und schaue über mein Reich.
Verschneit sind Straßen und Gärten,
Der Himmel ist fahl und bleich.
Mein Haupt ist grau und schüttelt
Sein Silber in den Wind.
Ein Wächter wacht und ruft Stunden,
Die tot und vorüber sind.
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, 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.
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 28-29.
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):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Realm of the dead", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2014-05-26
Line count: 16
Word count: 80
The lights have been extinguished,
Night enters the house;
The bright ghosts of day
Turn pale and depart.
Gone is the goblet
That proffered me oblivion;
My hair is grey, and all
Whom I loved are dead.
I wrap myself in crimson
And gaze over my realm.
Snowed in are streets and gardens,
The sky is pallid and pale.
My hair is grey and shakes
Its silver into the wind.
A watchman keeps watch and calls out hours
That are dead and past.
