by Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772 - 1801), as Novalis
Translation © by Emily Ezust

Muß immer der Morgen wiederkommen?
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): ENG
Muß immer der Morgen wiederkommen?
Endet nie des Irdischen Gewalt?
Unselige Geschäftigkeit verzehrt
den himmlischen Anflug der Nacht.
Wird nie der Liebe geheimes Opfer ewig brennen?
Zugemessen ward dem Lichte seine Zeit;
aber zeitlos und raumlos ist der Nacht Herrschaft. -- 
Ewig ist die Dauer des Schlafs.
Heiliger Schlaf -- beglücke zu selten nicht
der Nacht Geweihte in diesem irdischen Tagewerk.
Nur die Toren verkennen dich und wissen 
von keinem Schlafe, als dem Schatten,
den du in jener Dämmerung der wahrhaften Nacht
mitleidig auf uns wirfst. Sie fühlen dich nicht
in der goldenen Flut der Trauben --
in des Mandelbaums Wunderöl,
und dem braunen Safte des Mohnes.
Sie wissen nicht, daß du es bist
der des zarten Mädchens Busen umschwebt
und zum Himmel den Schooss macht --
ahnden nicht, daß aus alten Geschichten
du himmelöffnend entgegentrittst
und den Schlüssel trägst zu den Wohnungen 
der Seligen, unendlicher Geheimnisse schweigender Bote.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 145

Must morning always come again?
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
Must morning always come again?
Will the might of the mundane never end?
Will accursed bustle consume
the heavenly approach of night?
Will love's secret sacrifice never burn eternally?
Light had their time measured out -
but timeless and limitless is the night's dominion;
eternal is the duration of that Sleep.
Sacred sleep! Do not cheer too seldom
those dedicated to night in this earthly day's task.
Only fools will mistake you, and know of no sleep
but the shadow that in that twilight
of veritable night you mercifully 
cast over us. They do not feel you 
in the golden flood of grapes,
in the almond trees' wondrous oil,
and in the brown nectar of poppies.
They know not that it is you
hovering about the bosom of the tender maiden,
making her lap Heaven;
they do not suspect that from old stories
you will emerge, opening up the heavens,
bearing the key to the abode of the blessed;
infinite secrets of a silent messenger.

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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 -- https://www.lieder.net/

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


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This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 165