I have come here from the mountains,
Twilight is lying over the forest and the sea;
I look towards the evening star,
Home is so far, so far away.

Night spreads its blue canvas
High over God's wide world,
The world so full, and I am alone,
The world so large, and I am so small.

They live under [the blue tent] each with a house
And they go in an out in a friendly way;
But oh, the stranger's walking stick
Goes up and down different lands.

Shining in each lovely valley
Is the glow of morning and of evening,
I walk around in silence and rarely cheerful,
And the sigh keeps asking, 'where'?

It seems to me that the sun is dim and cold,
The blossom has withered, life is old,
And what they are saying in their empty noise is
I am a stranger everywhere.

Where are you, my praised land,
Sought for, yearned for and never known?
The land, the land that is so green in hope,
The land where my roses bloom?

Where my friends go to wander around
Where my dead come to life again;
The land that speaks my language,
And which has everything that I lack?

I think about time and space,
I gently ask the flowers and trees;
The air returns their breath to me:
'There, where you are not, that is where happiness is!'