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Ein jeder hat zu diesem Feste Sein liebes Liebchen mitgebracht, Und freut sich der blühenden Sommernacht; Ich wandle allein, mir fehlt das Beste. Ich wandle allein gleich einem Kranken! Ich fliehe die Lust, ich fliehe den Tanz Und die schöne Musik und den Lampenglanz; - In England sind meine Gedanken. Ich breche Rosen, ich breche Nelken, Zerstreuten Sinnes und kummervoll; Ich weiß nicht, wem ich sie geben soll; Mein Herz und die Blumen verwelken.
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Text Authorship:
- by Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856), no title, appears in Neue Gedichte, in Verschiedene, in Katharina, no. 8 [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 Richard Farber (b. 1945), "Ein jeder hat zu diesem Feste" [ voice and piano ], from Katharina, no. 8 [sung text not yet checked]
- by Don Forsythe (1932 - 2015), "Ein jeder hat zu diesem Feste", 2007, published c2007-8 [ high voice and piano ], from Verschiedene : vol. 2, Clarisse-Tragödie, no. 26 [sung text not yet checked]
- by Robert Franz (1815 - 1892), "Mir fehlt das Beste", op. 39 (Sechs Lieder von Heinrich Heine) no. 5 (1867?), published 1867 [ voice and piano ], Leipzig, Breitkopf & Härtel [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Wilhelm Stehle , "Ein jeder hat zu diesem Feste", published 1877 [ high voice and piano ], from Sechs Lieder für 1 hohe Singstimme mit Pianofortebegleitung, no. 4, Stuttgart, Ebner [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 12
Word count: 73
À cette fête, chacun A amené sa chère bien-aimée Et se réjouit de la nuit d'été florissante ; Je me promène seul, il me manque l'essentiel. Je me promène seul, comme un malade ! Je fuis le plaisir, je fuis la danse, La belle musique et l'éclat des lumières : Mes pensées sont en Angleterre. Je cueille des roses, je cueille des œillets, La tête à l'envers et plein de chagrin ; Je ne sais à qui je dois les donner ; Mon cœur et les fleurs se fanent.
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Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to French (Français) copyright © 2011 by Pierre Mathé, (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.
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Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856), no title, appears in Neue Gedichte, in Verschiedene, in Katharina, no. 8
This text was added to the website: 2011-06-02
Line count: 12
Word count: 84
