English translations of Drei Lieder für 1 mittle Singstimme mit Pianoforte, opus 4

Go to sleep, my sweet child!
Outdoors the wind is singing.
He is singing the whole world to rest,
Covering it up with his white bedclothes.
And although he blows into the world's face,
It does not stir and it does not move
It also does not even stretch its little hand
Forth from its soft blankets.
 
Go to sleep, my sweet child!
Outdoors the wind is passing by.
He raps at the windows and peers in
And if he still hears a child crying anywhere,
He chides and grumbles and hums greatly,
He immediately hauls forth his blanket of snow
And places it upon the cradle
When the child does not want to lie quietly.
 
Go to sleep, my sweet child!
Outdoors the wind is blowing.
He shakes the fir tree, [and]
Out flies a beautiful dream,
Which flies through snow and night and wind
Quickly, quickly to the dear child,
And sings of merry things
That the [Christchild]1 shall bring [to the child].
 
Go to sleep, my sweet child!
Outdoors the wind is blowing,
But when the sun says "Greetings!",
[The wind] blows the child's cheeks red,
And when Springtime says "Good day!",
[The wind] blows awake the whole world,
And everything that was lying very quietly
Becomes joyful all about.
Therefore sleep, my sweet child,
Even though the wind is blowing outdoors.

When I first beheld you,
how lovely you were, how fair,
I thought it would never happen in all my days
to see something lovelier
than your dear eyes
as I gazed into them for eternity.

I gazed at them so long,
until you became my bride;
and again I thought it would never happen
that I could see something lovelier
than your red mouth,
as I kissed them all the hour.

I kissed them so long,
until you were my wife;
and now I can be certain
that there can be nothing lovelier
than my lovely wife
in body and soul.

And though you may place between me and her
Broad rivers and valleys and hills,
Ye stern lords, ye shall never separate us,
The song, the song has wings.
I am a minstrel, well known,
I take myself off on a journey,
And from now on I shall sing through the whole land
Only the one lay:
    I love you, you sweet one,
    You my joy and agony,
    I love you and I greet you
    A thousand, thousand times!

And when I wander through the leafy forest,
Where finch and blackbird dart:
The little folk soon overhear my song
And begin to whistle it.
And upon the heath the wind hears it
And merrily spreads its wings,
And carries it quickly across the broad river
And over the mountains and further on:
    I love you, you sweet one,
    You my joy and agony,
    I love you and I greet you
    A thousand, thousand times!

Though city and village, through meadow and wheatfield
I play it upon my travels,
Soon by the water-spring at night
The maids with their jugs sing it,
The huntsman hums it
While spooring in the beech grove;
The fisherman throws his net into the sea
And sings it to the sound of his oar strokes:
    I love you, you sweet one,
    You my joy and agony,
    I love you and I greet you
    A thousand, thousand times!

And the brisk wind and the woodland birds,
And fishermen, maids and hunters,
They must all be messengers
And carriers of my love.
Thus in the end it comes in earnest,
It comes in jest to your ears;
And when you hear it, your heart throbs,
You discern who sent [the message]:
    I love you, you sweet one,
    You my joy and agony,
    I love you and I greet you
    A thousand, thousand times!