by
Karl August Friedrich von Witzleben (1773 - 1839), as A. v. Tromlitz
In der Hand die Himmelsgabe
Language: German (Deutsch)
In der Hand die Himmelsgabe
schwebt die Liebe sanft hernieder,
und ihr rosiges Gefieder
deckt das wunde Herz;
aber aus dem stillen Grabe
steigt sie himmelwärts.
Wonne, Sehnsucht und Entzücken
reichet sie mit sanften Händen,
auch den Kummer muß sie spenden,
Trennung, Qual und Schmerz;
ach! die Rose, die wir pflücken,
drückt den Dorn ins Herz.
Fühllos auf dem Göttersitze
knickt die Zeit die holde Rose,
und sie sinkt, die Blüthenlose,
welk und hingestreut --
doch des Dornes scharfe Spitze
schmerzt für Ewigkeit.
Schwebe hin, du Himmelsgabe,
nur für meine süßen Lieder
samml' ich deine Blüthen wieder,
nicht für dieses Herz;
nur im finstern öden Grabe
heilet Liebesschmerz.
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Confirmed with Sämtliche Schriften von A. von Tromlitz, Zweite Sammlung, Siebenundzwanzigstes Bändchen, Das Carnaval. Ritter Franz, Dresden und Leipzig: in der Arnoldischen Buchhandlung, 1836, pages 169-170.
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Song", copyright © 2006, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2006-06-25
Line count: 24
Word count: 107
Song
Language: English after the German (Deutsch)
With the heavenly gift in its hand,
Love softly wafts down,
and its rosy plumage
covers the wounded heart;
but from the quiet grave
Love rises towards heaven.
Joy, longing, and rapture
it presents with gentle hands,
it must also mete out suffering,
separation, agony, and pain;
ah! the rose that we pick
presses a thorn into our heart.
On the throne of the gods
Time unfeelingly breaks the lovely rose,
and it sinks, the bloomless one,
wilted and scattered --
but the sharp point of the thorn
pains us for all eternity.
Float away, you heavenly gift,
only for my sweet songs
do I again collect your blossoms,
not for this heart of mine;
only in the dark, desolate grave
shall love's pain heal.
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Revised July 25, 2021
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2006 by Sharon Krebs, (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:
This text was added to the website: 2006-06-25
Line count: 24
Word count: 124