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Die Blumen grüßen mich am Wege, Die du so liebst. Sie rufen mir, Daß ich sie pflücke und sie pflege, Daß ich sie küss' und sende dir. Und wie ich sie vom Busch will brechen, Da kommt mich's an, daß ich's nicht kann. Sie fangen solch ein süßes Sprechen Mit meinem tiefen Heimweh an. Nun scheinen sie mir all zu leben, Zu spiegeln dein und meinen Schmerz. Und, bräch' ich sie, so mein' ich eben, Ich bräche mit Dein treues Herz. So bleibt denn stehn, und meine Schmerzen, O Blumen, wahrt in frommem Sinn Zum Trost dem nächsten treuen Herzen, Das nach mir zieht die Straße hin!
About the headline (FAQ)
Confirmed with Christian Reinhold Köstlin’s poetry manuscripts, Z 2717, poem [37], written on September 11, 1843, Deutsches Literaturarchiv, Marbach, Germany.
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):
This text was added to the website: 2008-09-12
Line count: 16
Word count: 107
The flowers greet me along the road, [The flowers] that you so love, they call to me That I should pick them and care for them, That I should kiss them and send them to you. But as I go to break them, I realize that I cannot do it, They begin such a sweet conversation With my acute homesickness! Suddenly they all appear to me to be alive, To be mirroring your and my pain, And if I broke them from the bush, I feel that I would Be breaking your faithful heart along with them. So remain unpicked, flowers, and cherish My pain in your pious spirit, To be a comfort to the next loyal heart That comes along the road after me!
Text Authorship:
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2008-09-12
Line count: 16
Word count: 125
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