Translation © by Sharon Krebs

Der verspätete Wanderer
Language: German (Deutsch) 
Available translation(s): ENG FRE
Wo aber werd' ich sein im künft'gen Lenze?
So frug ich sonst wohl, wenn beim Hüteschwingen
Ins Tal wir ließen unser Lied erklingen,
Denn jeder Wipfel bot mir frische Kränze.

Ich wußte nur, daß rings der Frühling glänze,
Daß nach dem Meer die Ströme [leuchtend]1 gingen,
Von fernem Wunderland die Vögel singen,
Da hatt' das Morgenrot noch keine Grenze.

Jetzt aber wirds schon Abend, alle Lieben
Sind wandermüde längst zurückgeblieben,
Die Nachtluft rauscht durch meine welken Kränze,

Und heimwärts rufen mich die Abendglocken,
Und in der Einsamkeit frag ich erschrocken:
Wo werde ich wohl sein im künft'gen Lenze?

View original text (without footnotes)

Confirmed with Joseph Freiherrn von Eichendorff's sämtliche poetische Werke, dritte Auflage, Erster Band, Gedichte, C. F. Amelang's Verlag, Leipzig, 1883, page 102.

1 Zillig: "funkelnd"


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, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , title 1: "The wanderer late in the evening", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Le voyageur attardé", copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Jakob Kellner

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 14
Word count: 98

The wanderer late in the evening
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch) 
But where shall I be in next year's spring?
Thus I used to ask, when with waving hats
We let our song ring out into the valley,
For every treetop offered me fresh wreaths.

I only knew that round about me spring was glowing,
That the rivers were [shining]1 in their journey to the sea,
The birds were singing of faraway wonderlands,
Then the red of dawn yet had no boundary.

But now evening is already approaching, all the loved ones,
Tired of wandering, have long fallen behind,
The nightwind soughs through my wilted wreaths,

And the evening bells call me home,
And in the loneliness I ask, startled:
Where shall I be in next year's spring?

View original text (without footnotes)
1 Zillig: "sparkling"


  • Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2013 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: 2013-07-26
Line count: 14
Word count: 117