1.The spring came flying from afar;With fresh desires all’s teeming;All things pressed forward to the sunSo long all had been dreaming!
The finches flew out of their nestAnd children from their bowers,And in the meadows sweetest scentsBreathe countless little flowers.
Young leaves press their way from the twigsAnd from birds’ throats their voices,And in the heart with budding loveThe youthful breast rejoices.
2.I am the knight from the old taleWho proudly to far regions rodeTo see the lass, fair as a rose,And to discover her abode.
Who would behold her—said her fame—Would by a ban at once be struck;His heart would be rent from his breast,Or he would change to be a rock.
Thought I to myself, possiblyFor clemency there might be room.I ventured out and for my sin—Became a bard by rigid doom.
3.Though all the world has gone to sleep,The heart wakes in the body,And God himself knows that the heartNe’er sleeps for anybody.
The whole God’s world is silence-bound,The heart still goes, well rated,And God himself knows that the heartGets never fatigated.
Thy lips then press Thou close to mine;From one mouth let the prayer rise—Let me the words press on Thy lips,And Thou send them to paradise.
Our prayer shall be strong, indeed,Our offer purest in that case—For angels, too, when they do pray,Are praying just in such embrace.
Sleep is the conqueror of thought,Night is day’s alternation—But in the breast the heart e’er wakesAnd guards its love’s sweet passion.
4.Stars by the hundreds dot the skyWith sister Moon at leisure,And God and angels view the worldFrom heaven’s height with pleasure.
A smiling angel’s coming downTo earth like heaven’s vision—Fair as the fragrant breath of spring,And love is his sweet mission.
Wherever he but passes by,All’s stricken with sweet passion,And nightingales and fair white dovesAll sing with animation.
And he whom his white wing does touchIs transformed all over,And something sweet comes to his breastThat human words can’t cover.
5.God summoned me to ParadiseTo get me educated.“’Tis hard for me to be alone!”The Lord then Eve created.
He took not one rib from my breast,My heart in half He parted.That is why my heart still tends backFrom where once Thine has started.
And that is why such strange desiresSo oft in my heart gatherAnd I feel as though both our heartsShould grow again together.
And that is why when I’m awayPain to my heart is creeping,My foot does of itself turn back,And I am sad—to weeping.
6.My sweetheart, come, kneel down with meNow is the time for us to pray—The moon has risen o’er the woodsAnd my time has just passed away.
But, darling, do not clasp Thy hands;Embrace me as I Thee with mine—And thus, instead of clasping hands,Two hearts will in one prayer join.
7.My sweetheart, I dreamt Thou hadst died;I heard the death-knells pealing,And there were tears and wails and criesAnd signs of saddest feeling.
For the low mound o’er Thy strange bedThey picked a tombstone blindlyAnd a verse for Thine epitaphTo write they asked me kindly.
Oh folks! Oh folks! yourselves of stones,My heart take, with grief raving,And what I have not sung beforeUse for the stone’s engraving!
You trusted not in my pure loveAnd scorned my word and letterNow if the stone will speak to you,You’ll understand it better.
8.So many, many things there areTo which the keys are lacking.Deep silence answers all man’s knocksAnd foils his undertaking.
Thou human heart! There sorrows howlAs wolves, by hunger driven,And yet that same heart, Oh my God!To love alone is given.
‘Tis capable of so much loveThat man’s wit may be failing,And he may as the lonely doveIn vain roam, ever wailing.
9.If that poor nightingaleLived always with her mate,Her love songs would not soundSo sad and desolate.
If that poor heart but wouldWith Thee wake through the night,Instead of pain it wouldResound with sweet delight.
10.I am a linden with large crown,In style dressed in the meadow:Thou beautiful, sweet rose of May,Come to my cooling shadow.
Here each green leaf does odor breatheAnd swarms of bees are humming,And, nightly, little birds arrive—Those are my thoughts, home coming.
They fly far-off as children doFrom home until they hunger,But, with Thee seated close to me,They will depart no longer.
11.At prophets cast ye never stones;They are as birds, shy, clever:Cast thou a stone at him but once,And he is gone forever.
God’s fearful wrath the nation seeksWhose love of bards is shaken,And greatest wrath befell the raceFrom whom God songs has taken.
The poet’s heart is pure and chaste,His faith does never vary:Therefore, what he sings from his heartThat in your heart ye carry.
12.Blest is the man whom the Lord’s handAs bard has consecrated;He has looked into God’s decreesAnd has men’s breasts well rated.
He knows what’s in the world’s great psalmAnd what the birds are singing;He understands the throbbing heart,In tears and with joy ringing.
What secret is to other menIs open to his vision;He is the leader of God’s raceTo its long promised region.
He is the king of kingdoms vast,The priest of men’s salvation,And beauty’s treasures lie in himBeyond all estimation.
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