Du liebe, treue Laute,
Wie manche Sommernacht,
Bis daß der Morgen graute,
Hab' ich mit dir durchwacht!
Die Täler, wieder nachten,
Schon sinkt das Abendrot,
Doch die sonst mit uns wachten,
Die liegen lange tot.
Was wollen wir nun singen
Hier in der Einsamkeit,
Wenn alle von uns gingen,
Die unser Lied erfreut'?
Wir wollen dennoch singen!
So still ist's auf der Welt;
Wer weiß, die Lieder dringen
Vielleicht zum Sternezelt.
Wer weiß, die da gestorben,
Sie hören droben mich
Und öffnen leis' die Pforten
Und nehmen uns zu sich.
Composition:
Set to music by Hugo Wolf (1860 - 1903), "Nachruf", 1880
Text Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2021, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Emily Ezust) , "In memoriam", copyright ©
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Hommage funèbre", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Amelia Maria Imbarrato) , "Richiamo", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 92
You dear, faithful lute,
how many a summer night
until morning broke
did I watch with you!
The valleys darken with approaching night again,
already the evening glow is diminishing,
but they who once watched with us,
they have long lain dead.
Why are we compelled now to sing
here in this solitude,
when everyone is gone now
who once delighted in our song?
Yet we will sing nonetheless!
So silent is it in the world;
who knows, these songs may penetrate
perhaps even the starry dome.
Who knows, those who have died,
they might hear me up above
and softly open the gates
and take us up to them.
