English translations of Vier Lieder, opus 106

When your lips touch me,
Desire would bear my soul away;
I feel a nameless trembling
Which swells my breast.

My eyes flame, a glow colors my cheeks;
My heart beats with an unknown longing;
My mind, lost in the stammering of my drunken lips
Can hardly compose itself.

In such a moment my life hangs
On your sweet lips, soft as roses,
And, in your dear embrace,
Life nearly deserts me.

Oh would that my life could escape from itself,
My soul aflame in yours!
Oh that lips burning with longing
Must part!

Oh that my being might not dissolve in kisses
When my lips are pressed so tightly to yours,
And to your heart, which might never dare
To beat aloud for me!

 So soothingly flows
 the stream of holy tears,
 Just like a healing spring,
 bitter, hot and clear.
 So you, my heart, full of wounds,
 full of grief and silent pain --
 if you would soon recover,
 then immerse yourself there.

 Dwelling in these waves
 is a secret magic power,
 that is to woeful wounds
 like gentle balm;
 It grows with your pain,
 and seizes it, lifting and rolling away
 from your heart the terrible stone
 that would crush you.

 This have I myself felt,
 here in this land of sorrow,
 when, draped in mourning crêpe,
 I stood by the graves of loved ones.
 There, in terrible frenzies,
 I would curse my god;
 It was only my tears
 that kept afloat hope's little ship.

 So when you, too, are surrounded
 by painful, troubled night,
 trust, in your anguish,
 the magic power of tears.
 Soon, when from hot weeping
 your eyes shine red,
 a new day will appear;
  for already, morning is blooming.

So this is the narrow cabinet
Where once I lay as a child.
There I lay: frail, helpless and unable to speak,
opening my lips only to cry.

I could seize nothing with my delicate little hands,
and yet I was always bound fast like a rogue;
I had tiny feet, yet lay as if I were lame,
until Mother took me and held me to her breast.

 Then I laughed up at her as I suckled;
She sang to me of roses and angels.
She sang and she rocked me to sleep,
and kissed my eyes lovingly closed.

She spread out something of silk: dusky green,
a cool tent high above me.
Where will I ever find again such a peaceful room?
Perhaps when the green grass is my roof!

O Mother, dear Mother, stay awhile yet!
Who else could sing to me so soothingly of angels?
Who else could kiss my eyes lovingly closed,
For the long, deep and final rest?

What is Silvia, tell,
That the broad lea praises her?
Lovely and delicate I see her approach,
Indicating heaven's benevolence and trace,
Everything is subservient to her.

Is she beautiful and good as well?
Allurement delights like gentle childhood;
Amor hastens to her eye,
There he heals his blindness,
And lingers in sweet peace.

Therefore resound to Silvia, oh singing,
To the honour of the lovely Silvia;
Every charm that the world can grant
She has long acquired for herself:
Wreaths to her and the sounds of strings!