by
Julius Rodenberg (1831 - 1914)
Vorgefühl
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): ENG
Schon fegen die Winde
Lau durch die Nacht,
Es springt die Rinde,
Die Decke kracht.
Die Wellen schäumen,
Die Strömung schießt,
Aus Winterträumen
Der Frühling sprießt.
Mit süßer Wehre
Kämpft Lenz, der Held,
Mit lustigem Heere
Zieht er in's Feld.
Mit Blumen stickt er
Sein Kriegsgewand,
Und Strahlen blickt er
Und Wolkenbrand.
Die Wiesen rauchen
Von bläulichem Duft,
Und Knospen tauchen
Aus stiller Gruft.
Die Zweige wiegen
Ein Blüthenmeer,
Und Falter fliegen
Als Boten umher.
Das ist ein Rüsten
Als wie zur Schlacht,
Als ob sie wüßten:
Mein Herz erwacht.
Pein, so linde,
Du sprossende Saat --
Es springt die Rinde,
Die Liebe naht.
Nun kann ich nicht wenden
Den wonnigen Schmerz --
Wie soll das enden
Mein armes Herz?
Confirmed with Julius Rodenberg, Lieder und Gedichte, Berlin: Verlag von Gebrüder Paetel, 1880, pages 11-12.
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):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "Anticipation", copyright © 2024, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Sharon Krebs
[Guest Editor] This text was added to the website: 2024-01-18
Line count: 36
Word count: 118
Anticipation
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
The winds are already sweeping
Mildly through the night,
The bark is bursting,
The cover cracks.
The waves foam,
The flowing waters hurtle,
From out of winter dreams
Spring burgeons forth.
With sweet weapons
The hero, springtime, fights,
With a merry army
He enters the field.
With flowers he embroiders
His battledress,
And he sees sunbeams
And blazing clouds.
The meadows smoke
With blue scent,
And buds emerge
From their quiet tomb.
The branches sway --
A sea of blossoms,
And butterflies flit
About like messengers.
That is a preparation
As if for battle,
As if they knew:
My heart is wakening.
Pain, so mild,
You sprouting seeds --
The bark bursts,
Love nears.
Now I cannot turn away
The blissful pain --
How is that to end,
My poor heart?
Text Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2024 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2024-01-22
Line count: 36
Word count: 128