"Ich will ja nicht in Garten gehn,
Will liegen sommerlang,
Hör' ich die liebe Drossel nur,
Die in dem Busche sang."
Man fängt dem Kind die Drossel ein,
Im Käfig sitzt sie dort,
Doch singen will sie nicht und hängt
Ihr Köpfchen immerfort.
Noch einmal blickt das Kind nach ihr
Mit bittendem Gesicht,
Da schlägt die Drossel schön und hell,
Da glänzt sein Aug' und bricht.
Composition:
Text Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El tord", copyright © 2020, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The thrush", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "La grive", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Sharon Krebs
[Senior Associate Editor]This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 12
Word count: 68
"I would not want to go to the garden,
I would lie here for the whole summer,
into thrush
That sang in the bushes."
They catch the thrush for the child,
It sits there in a cage,
But it does not want to sing and hangs
Its little head always.
The child looks at it one more time
With a pleading countenance,
Whereupon the thrush throbs beautifully and brightly,
The child’s eyes shine and close in death.
