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Flieh, Täubchen, flieh: Er ist nicht hie!
Der dich an dem schönsten Frühlingsmorgen
Fand im Wäldchen, wo du dich verborgen.
Flieh, Täubchen, flieh! Er ist nicht hie!
Böser Laurer Füße rasten nie.
Horch, Flötenklang, Liebesgesang
Wallt auf Lüftchen her zu Liebchens Ohre,
Find't im zarten Herzen offne Thore.
Horch, Flötenklang, Liebesgesang,
Horch, es wird der süßen Liebe bang.
Hoch ist sein Schritt, fest ist sein Tritt;
Schwarzes Haar auf runder Stirne webet,
Auf den Wangen ew'ger Frühling lebet.
Hoch ist sein Schritt, fest ist sein Tritt,
Edler Deutschen Füße gleiten mit.
Wonn' ist die Brust, rein seine Lust,
Schwarze Augen unter runden Bogen,
Sind mit zarten Falten schön umzogen.
Wonn' ist die Brust, rein seine Lust,
Gleich beym Anblick du ihn lieben mußt.
Roth ist sein Mund, der mich verwund't,
Auf den Lippen träufeln Morgendüfte,
Auf den Lippen säuseln kühle Lüfte.
Roth ist sein Mund der mich verwund't,
Nur ein Blick von ihm macht mich gesund.
Treu ist sein Blut, stark ist sein Muth,
Schutz und Stärke wohnt in weichen Armen,
Auf dem Antlitz edeles Erbarmen.
Treu ist sein Blut, stark ist sein Muth,
Selig, wer in seinen Armen ruht.
...
Note: the text above is taken from stanzas 1-6 of the original text.
Composition:
- Set to music by Heinrich Esser (1818 - 1872), "So ist der Held, der mit gefällt", published 1844, stanzas 1-6 [ voice and piano ], Mainz, Schott
Text Authorship:
- by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832), title 1: "So ist der Held, der mir gefällt", title 2: "Flieh, Täubchen, flieh"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Sharon Krebs [Senior Associate Editor], Johann Winkler
This text was added to the website: 2015-07-12
Line count: 35
Word count: 235
Flee, little dove, flee: he is not here!
He who, upon the most beautiful of spring mornings,
Found you in the little grove where you had hidden yourself.
Flee, little dove, flee! He is not here!
The feet of evil predators never rest.
Hark, the sound of the flute, a love song
Wafts upon the breeze to the little darling's ear;
In the gentle heart it finds open gates.
Hark, the sound of the flute, a love song,
Hark, the sweet love is becoming too uneasy.
His gait is lofty, his step is firm;
Black hair weaves about his round brow,
Eternal spring lives upon his cheeks.
His gait is lofty, his step is firm,
The feet of noble Germans do not slip.
His bosom is bliss, his passion is chaste,
Under the arched brows his eyes are black,
Delicate lines are beautifully traced about them.
His bosom is bliss, his passion is chaste,
The moment you see him, you must love him.
Red are the lips that wounded me.
From those lips drip morning scents,
Upon those lips cool breezes murmur.
Red are the lips that wounded me,
A single gaze of his is enough to heal me.
His blood is faithful, his courage is strong,
Protection and strength reside in soft arms,
Upon his face is noble compassion.
His blood is faithful, his courage is strong,
Happy is she who rests in his arms.
...
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Note: the text above is taken from stanzas 1-6 of the original text.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2015 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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 - 1832), title 1: "So ist der Held, der mir gefällt", title 2: "Flieh, Täubchen, flieh"
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This text was added to the website: 2015-07-12
Line count: 35
Word count: 275