Ein schwarzes Vöglein fliegt über die Welt,
das singt so todestraurig...
Wer es hört, der tut sich ein Leides an,
der mag keine Sonne mehr schauen.
Allmitternacht ruht es sich aus
auf dem Finger des Tods.
Der streichelt's leis und spricht ihm zu:
"Flieg, mein Vögelein! flieg, mein Vögelein!"
Und wieder fliegt's flötend über die Welt.
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Text Authorship:
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (John H. Campbell) , "Melancholy bird", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Mélancolie du petit oiseau", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Johann Winkler
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 10
Word count: 73
A black-bird flies across the world,
singing so sorrowfully of death . . .
Whoever hears it, hears such sadness,
they fear the sun may shine no more.
All thru' the night it rests
on the finger of death.
He caresses the bird solemnly and urges it:
Fly, my little bird! Fly, little bird!
And again it flies soaring over the world.