Ich habe keinen Kranz ersiegt
Und keinen weiten Weg gemacht.
Wie kommt es, daß die frühe Nacht
So müd und schläfernd vor mir liegt?
Ein Bündlein Lieder liegt vor mir,
Mein ganzes Tun, mein ganzes Gut.
Sind jugendschlank und gliederzier
Und jeder Vers ist rotes Blut.
Ich habe keinen Kranz ersiegt
Und keinen weiten Weg gemacht.
Wie kommt es, daß die frühe Nacht
So müd und schläfernd vor mir liegt?
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, 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.
Confirmed with Hermann Hesse, Sämtliche Werke, herausgegeben von Volker Michels, Band 10 Die Gedichte, bearbeitet von Peter Huber, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2002, page 55.
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):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "How does it happen?", copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Comment se fait-il ?", copyright © 2017, (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: 70
I have not victoriously won a wreath
And made no great journey.
How is it then that the early night
Lies before me so wearily and sleepily?
A bundle of poems lies before me,
My whole labour, my entire property,
They are youthfully slender and delicately limbed
And every verse is red blood.
I have not victoriously won a wreath
And made no great journey.
How is it then that the early night
Lies before me so wearily and sleepily?