English translations of Nordische Liedergrüße von Shakespeare, R. Burns, Heine, Eichendorff u.a., opus 35

 Pretty cradle of my sorrows,
 pretty tombstone of my rest,
 pretty town - we must part, -
 farewell! I call to you.
 
 Farewell, you holy threshhold,
 across which my darling would tread;
 farewell! you sacred spot
 where I first saw her.
 
 Would that I had never seen you,
 lovely queen of my heart!
 Never would it then have happened,
 that I would now be so wretched.
 
 I never wished to touch your heart,
 I never begged for love;
 all I wished was to lead a quiet life
 where your breath could stir me.
 
 Yet you yourself pushed me away from you,
 with bitter words at your lips;
 Madness filled my senses,
 and my heart is sick and wounded.
 
 And my limbs are heavy and sluggish;
 I'll drag myself forward, leaning on my staff, 
 until I can lay my weary head 
 in a cool and distant grave. 

On wings of song,
my love, I'll carry you away
to the fields of the Ganges
Where I know the most beautiful place.

There lies a red-flowering garden,
in the serene moonlight,
the lotus-flowers await
Their beloved sister.

The violets giggle and cherish,
and look up at the stars,
The roses tell each other secretly
Their fragant fairy-tales.

The gentle, bright gazelles,
pass and listen;
and in the distance murmurs
The waves of the holy stream.

There we will lay down,
under the palm-tree,
and drink of love and peacefulnes
And dream our blessed dream.