Einem Todten
Language: German (Deutsch)
Wie dunkel ist's! Nur wenn der Sturmgott droben
Sein leuchtend Schwert nach Wolkenriesen zückt,
Erhellt sich mir der Pfad, dann schreit' ich eilend,
Ein Büchlein zitternd an die Brust gedrückt.
Gedichte sind's! Der Sehnsucht irres Stammeln,
Der Schrei der Noth, ein blasser Traum von Glück,
Gedanken, aus der Einsamkeit geboren...
In ihre Heimath trag' ich sie zurück.
Ein Garten lockt im fahlen Licht der Blitze,
Am düstern Thor das Schweigen Wache hält,
Dort opf're ich im Schatten der Cypressen,
Ein Lebender im Bann der Todtenwelt.
Da liegt das Grab! Ein Kreuz ist drauf gebettet,
Die Lippen preß ich auf den kalten Stein
Und suche einen halbverwischten Namen -
Ach der ihn trug, vor Jahren war er mein.
Wie dunkel ist's! Nur von den Lilien windet
Ein seltsam feierlicher Glanz sich los,
Den Epheu bieg' ich schweigend auseinander
Und leg' das Buch in seinen dunk'len Schooß.
Gedichte sind's! Ein Buch wie viele and're,
Mir aber zittert jede Zeile nach,
Gedichte sind's, in banger Zeit gesungen
Von einer Seele, die in Sehnsucht brach.
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):
[ None yet in the database ]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "To one who has died", copyright © 2023, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2012-05-28
Line count: 24
Word count: 170
To one who has died
Language: English after the German (Deutsch)
How dark it is! Only when the storm god above
Draws his shining sword against the cloud-giants,
Light is shed upon my path; then I walk hastily,
A book pressed tremblingly to my bosom.
It is poems! The mad stammer of yearning,
The cry of misery, a pale dream of joy,
Thoughts born of loneliness . . .
I carry them back to their homeland.
A garden entices me in the pallid glow of the lightening bolts,
Silence keeps watch at the gloomy portal,
There in the shadows of the cypresses, I make an offering,
A living person in the thrall of the netherworld.
There lies the grave! A cross is embedded upon it,
I press my lips to the cold stone
And seek a half-obscured name --
Ah, he who bore it, years ago he was mine.
How dark it is! Only from the lilies there
Emanates a strange solemn radiance,
Silently I separate the [strands of the] ivy
And place the book into its dark womb.
It is poems! A book like many others,
But for me every line echoes with trembling,
It is poems, sung in anxious times
By a soul that broke in yearning.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2023 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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2023-10-30
Line count: 24
Word count: 197
