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by Wilhelm Müller (1794 - 1827)
Translation © by Sharon Krebs

Eine blaue Schurze
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): CAT DUT ENG FRE
Eine blaue Schurze
hast du mir gegeben,
Mutter, schad' ums Färben,
Mutter, schad' ums Weben!
Morgen in der Frühe
wird sie bleich erscheinen,
will zu Nacht so lange
Tränen auf sie weinen.

Und wenn meine Tränen
es nicht schaffen können,
wie sie immer strömen,
wie sie immer brennen,
wird mein Liebster kommen
und mir Wasser bringen,
wird sich Meereswasser
aus den Locken ringen.

Denn er liegt da unten
in des Meeres Grunde,
und wenn ihm die Wogen
rauschen diese Kunde,
dass ich hier soll freien
und ihm treulos werden,
aus der Tiefe steigt er
auf zur bösen Erden.

In die Kirche soll ich --
nun, ich will ja kommen,
will mich fromm gesellen
zu den andern Frommen.
Lasst mich am Altare
still vorüberziehen;
denn dort ist mein Plätzchen,
wo die Witwen knien.

About the headline (FAQ)

Confirmed with Wilhelm Müller, Gedichte, Berlin, Behr, 1906, pages 279 - 280.


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):

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • DUT Dutch (Nederlands) [singable] (Lau Kanen) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , "The bride", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "La fiancée", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2005-08-29
Line count: 32
Word count: 131

The bride
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
A blue apron
You gave me,
Mother, it's a pity about the dyeing [of it],
Mother, it's a pity about the weaving [of it].
Early tomorrow morning
It will seem pale,
Because so long all night
I shall shed tears upon it.

And if my tears
Cannot manage [to bleach] it,
No matter how they may stream,
No matter how they may burn,
My beloved shall come
And bring me water,
He shall wring sea-water
From his curls.

For he lies down there
At the bottom of the sea,
And when the waves
Murmur this news to him,
That I am to marry here
And become untrue to him,
From the depths he shall rise
Up to this evil earth.

To the church I am to go?
Well, I am willing to come,
I shall piously join
The other pious people.
Let me pass quietly
Before the altar;
For there is my place,
Where the widows kneel.


  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2008 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.

Based on:


This text was added to the website: 2008-06-18
Line count: 32
Word count: 157