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"Was ich lieb und was ich bitte, Gönnen mir die Menschen nicht, Darum, kleine, moosge Hütte, Meid ich so des Tages Licht. Bein herauf zu dir gekommen, Wo ich oft der Welt vergaß, Gerne sinnend bei dem frommen Roten Kerzenschimmer saß. Weil ich drunet mich veliere In dem Treiben bang undhohl, Schließe dich, du kleine Türe, Und mir werde wieder wohl!" So der Einsamkeit gegeben, Hing ich alten Träumen nach, Doch der Flamme ruhig Weben Trost in meine Trauer sprach. -- Leise, wie durch Geisterhände, Öffnet sich die Rüre bald, Und es tritt in meine Wände Eine liebliche Gestalt. Was ich lieb und was ich flehte, Freundlich, schüchtern vor mir stand, Ohne Sinn und ohne Rede Hielt ich die geliebte Hand; Fühle Locken bald und Wange Sanft ans Antlitz mir gelegt, Während sich im sel'gen Drange Träne mir um Träne regt. -- Freundlich Bild im himmelblauen Kleide mit dem Silbersaum! Werde nimmer so dich schauen, Und mich täuschte nur ein Traum.
Text Authorship:
- by Eduard Mörike (1804 - 1875), "In der Hütte am Berg" [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Gary Bachlund (b. 1947), "In der Hütte am Berg", 2010 [bass-baritone and piano] [ sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Gary Bachlund) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2010-02-03
Line count: 32
Word count: 159
"What I love and what I seek, Many often begrudge me; For this, small mossy hut, I so avoid the light of day. I am come here then Where I can leave behind the world, And willingly sit and think by The pious red glow of candle light. Because down there I lose myself In the anxious and hollow bustle, Shut yourself behind me, little door, And I will refresh myself again." There, given over to solitude, I have dwelt on old dreams, For the gentle weaving of the flame Spoke consolation in my sorrow. Softly, as if by ghostly hands, soon another door will open and into these four walls will appear Again that pleasing form. What I love and that for which I have plead friendly, shyly has stood before me. Without thinking, without speaking I have taken the beloved's hand. I have felt the locks of hair and a cheek Gently laid against my face While in blessed urgency Those tears moved me to tears. Pleasant image in sky-blue Raiment hemmed with silver, I will never so behold you, As when deceived by this dream.
About the headline (FAQ)
Text Authorship:
- by Gary Bachlund (b. 1947), copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Eduard Mörike (1804 - 1875), "In der Hütte am Berg"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2010-02-03
Line count: 32
Word count: 188