Der Föhn schreit jede Nacht,
Sein feuchter Flügel flattert schwer.
Brachvögel taumeln durch die Luft.
Nun schläft nichts mehr,
Nun ist das ganze Land erwacht,
Der Frühling ruft.
Bleib still, bleib still, mein Herz!
Ob auch im Blute eng und schwer
Die Leidenschaft sich rührt
Und dich die alten Wege führt --
Nicht jugendwärts
Gehn deine Wege mehr.1
Available sung texts: (what is this?)
• G. von Einem Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada and the U.S., but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
View original text (without footnotes)
Confirmed with Hermann Hesse, Sämtliche Werke, herausgegeben von Volker Michels, Band 10 Die Gedichte, bearbeitet von Peter Huber, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2002, pages 140-141.
1 von Einem adds:
Nun schläft nichts mehr,
Nun ist das Land erwacht.
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):
Set in a modified version by Clemens von Franckenstein, Otto Modler, Anton Würz.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Prémices du printemps", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust
[Administrator] , Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 12
Word count: 58
The Föhn-wind screams every night,
Its damp pinions flutter heavily.
Curlews reel through the air.
Now nothing sleeps any longer,
Now the whole land is wakened,
Spring calls.
Be still, be still, my heart!
Though in your veins, closely and heavily,
Passion stirs
And leads you upon the old paths --
Your ways no longer
Go toward youth.