Möcht wissen, was sie schlagen
So schön bei der Nacht,
's ist in der Welt ja doch niemand,
Der mit ihnen wacht.
Und die Wolken, die reisen,
Und das Land ist so blaß,
Und die Nacht wandelt leise
Durch den Wald übers Gras.
Nacht, Wolken, wohin sie gehen,
Ich weiß es recht gut,
Liegt ein Grund hinter den Höhen,
Wo meine Liebste jetzt ruht.
Zieht der Einsiedel sein Glöcklein,
Sie höret es nicht,
Es fallen ihre Löcklein
Übers ganze Gesicht.
Und daß sie niemand erschrecket,
Der liebe Gott hat sie hier
Ganz mit Mondschein bedecket,
Da träumt sie von mir.
Composition:
Text Authorship:
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CAT Catalan (Català) (Manuel Capdevila i Font) , copyright © 2025, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (Jakob Kellner) , "I would like to know what they sing", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ENG English (John Glenn Paton) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Les rossignols", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Jakob Kellner
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 103
I’d like to know what they are singing
so beautifully at night;
indeed there is no one on earth
who is keeping watch with them.
And the clouds drift by,
and the land is colorless,
and night travels softly
through the forest, over the grass.
The night, the clouds – I know exactly
where they are going;
there’s a valley behind the hills
where my beloved is resting right now.
When the hermit sounds his little bell,
she does not hear it;
the little locks of her hair fall
over her whole face.
And so that no one will frighten her
our loving God has covered her
completely with moonlight;
there she is dreaming about me.
