English translations of Drei Lieder, opus 87

Night falls; with gentle breezes it settles
Down over the tired mortals.
Soft sleep, death's brother, beckons
And in a friendly way lays them down in their daily graves.
Now the only things that are awake on the surface of the earth (robbed of its light)
Are perhaps malice and pain;
And now, since I cannot be disturbed by anything,
Let your wounds bleed, poor heart!

Sink down into the depths of your distress,
And if perhaps in your shredded breast
There are long-repressed, half-forgotten sorrows asleep there,
Then wake them up with cruel, sweet delight!
Take into consideration all the lost blessings,
Count all the flowers in paradise,
Which, in the golden times of your youth,
The strong hand of fate plucked from you!

You have loved, you have experienced a happiness
Before which every earthly delight fades into insignificance,
You found a heart that understood you,
Your boldest hopes reached their beautiful destination.
But then a terrifying decree struck you down
And you fell from your celestial heights and your silent happiness,
The all too beautiful vision returned
To the better world from which it had come.

All of the sweet ties have now been torn apart;
No heart beats for me any longer in the whole world!
[ ... ]

 Men speak and dream a lot
 of better days to come;
 toward a successful, golden goal
 one can see them running and chasing.
 The world grows old and then grows young again,
 yet Man hopes always for improvement.
 
 Hope introduces Man to life,
 and it flutters about the cheerful boy.
 The young man is enraptured by its magic shine;
 it is not buried with the gray-haired old man,
 for although he ends his weary run in the grave,
 he still plants by his grave - Hope.
 
 It is no empty, flattering delusion
 generated in the mind of a fool.
 It proclaims itself loudly in the heart:
 "We were born for something better!"
 And what the inner voice speaks
 will not mislead the soul that hopes.

At the stream sat a boy,
winding flowers for a wreath,
and he saw them torn away,
driven in the dance of the waves.
And so fly my days
like the restles stream! 
And so fades my youth,
Like the wreaths that quickly wilt.

Don't ask me why I'm sad
In the flower of my youth!
Everything is joyful and all is full of hope
when Spring renews itself.
And yet the thousands of voices
of Nature awakening
arouse in the depths of my heart
only a heavy, troubling sorrow.

What should I to do with the pure joy
that fair Spring offers me?
There is only one which I seek
And she is near yet eternally far.
Longingly I reach my arms
toward that dear shadowed figure,
Oh! I can not reach it,
And my heart is unruly!

Come here, you beautiful lady,
and leave your proud castle!
Flowers that Spring creates,
I strew into your lap;
Listen, the grove resounds with songs,
And the stream trickles clearly!
There is room in the smallest hut
For a happy, loving pair."