by Nikolaus Lenau (1802 - 1850)
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Stille wird's im Walde; die lieben...
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Our translations:  CAT ENG FRE ITA
Stille wird's im Walde; die lieben kleinen
Sänger prüfen schaukelnd den Ast, der durch die
Nacht dem neuen Fluge sie trägt, den neuen
  Liedern entgegen.

Bald versinkt die Sonne; des Waldes Riesen
Heben höher sich in die Lüfte, um noch
Mit des Abends flüchtigen Rosen sich ihr
  Haupt zu bekränzen.

Schon verstummt die Matte; den satten Rindern
Selten nur enthallt das Geglock am Halse,
Und es pflückt der wählende Zahn nur lässig
  Dunklere Gräser.

Und dort blickt der schuldlos Hirt der Sonne
Sinnend nach; dem Sinnenden jetzt entfallen
Flöt und Stab, es falten die Hände sich zum
  Stillen Gebete.

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Text Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

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) , "It grows quiet in the wood", copyright ©
  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2009, (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: 16
Word count: 99

It grows quiet in the wood
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
 It grows quiet in the wood; the dear little 
 singers on the swinging branch,
 which through the night will bear their new flights,
 experiment with new songs.
 
 Soon the sun begins to descend; the giants 
 of the wood lift themselves higher into air, so that
 with the evening's fluttering roses they
 may wreathe their heads.

 Already the meadow is silent; 
 only seldom can you hear the ringing from their necks,
 and their choosy teeth pick 
 casually only the darker grass.

 And there the guileless herdsman gazes 
 pensively after the sun;
 flute and stick now drop from the reflecting man's hands
 and he folds them for a silent prayer.

Text Authorship:

  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Emily Ezust

    Emily Ezust permits her translations to be reproduced without prior permission for printed (not online) programs to free-admission concerts only, provided the following credit is given:

    Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
    from the LiederNet Archive

    For any other purpose, please write to the e-mail address below to request permission and discuss possible fees.


Based on:

 

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 109