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Dereinst,  gedanke mein


One day,

My thoughts,

You shall be at rest.

Though love’s ardour

Gives you no peace,

You shall sleep well

In cool earth;

There without love

And without pain

You shall be at rest.

What you did not

Find in life

Will be granted you

When life is ended.

Then, free from torment

And free from pain,

You shall be at rest.

Nacht und Träume


Holy night, you sink down;

dreams, too, float down,

like your moonlight

through space,

through the silent

hearts of men.

They listen with delight,

crying out when day awakes:

come back, holy night!

Fair dreams, return!



Balmy breezes are awakened;

they stir and whisper day and night,

everywhere creative.

O fresh scents, O new sounds!

Now, poor heart, do not be afraid.

Now all must change.

The world grows fairer each day;

we cannot know what is still to come;

the flowering knows no end.

The deepest, most distant valley is in flower.

Now, poor heart, forget your torment.

Now all must change.


It was as though Heaven

Had softly kissed the Earth,

So that she in a gleam of blossom

Had only to dream of him.

The breeze passed through the fields,

The corn swayed gently to and fro,

The forests murmured softly,

The night was so clear with stars.

And my soul spread

Her wings out wide,

Flew across the silent land,

As though flying home.

C'est l'extase


It is languorous rapture,

It is amorous fatigue,

It is all the tremors of the forest

In the breezes’ embrace,

It is, around the grey branches,

The choir of tiny voices.

O the delicate, fresh murmuring!

The warbling and whispering,

It is like the soft cry

The ruffled grass gives out …

You might take it for the muffled sound

Of pebbles in the swirling stream.

This soul which grieves

In this subdued lament,

It is ours, is it not?

Mine, and yours too,

Breathing out our humble hymn

On this warm evening, soft and low?

An Die Musik


Beloved art, in how many a bleak hour,

when I am enmeshed in life’s tumultuous round, 

have you kindled my heart to the warmth of love, 

and borne me away to a better world!

Often a sigh, escaping from your harp,

a sweet, celestial chord

has revealed to me a heaven of happier times. 

Beloved art, for this I thank you!

Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant


My corpse is as soft as a glove
Soft as a glove of frozen skin
And my hidden pupils
Make two white pebbles of my eyes.
Two white pebbles in my face
Two mutes in the silence
Still darkened by a secret
Laden with the dead weight

of what they’ve seen
My fingers that roved so often
Are joined in a saintly pose
Resting on the hollow of my sorrows
At the centre of my arrested heart.
And my two feet are mountains,
The last two hills that I saw
At the very moment I lost the race
That the years always win.
My memory is resembling–
Children, bear it swiftly away,
Go, go my life is over.
My corpse is a soft as a glove.

Ave Maria (Otello)


Hail Mary, full of grace, chosen among wives and maidens art thou,

blessed be the fruit, o blessed one,

of thy womb, Jesus.

Pray for the one who kneels in prayer before you, pray for the sinner, for the one who is innocent, and for the weak and oppressed, and for the mighty, also wretched, show thy mercy.

Pray for the one who bows his head under injustice and under misfortune; 

for us, pray thou for us, pray ever and in the hour of our death, pray for us, pray for us, pray.

Hail Mary . . . in the hour of our death. 

Amen! Hail! Amen!



Daylight has departed,

The sound of bells comes from afar;

Thus time moves on throughout the night,

Taking many an unwitting soul.

Where now is all the garish joy,

The comforting breast of a faithful friend,

The sweet light of the loved one’s eyes?

Will no one stay awake with me?

Strike up then, dear nightingale,

You cascade of bright sound!

Together we shall praise God,

Until the light of morning dawns!



Promised flowers, flowers held in your arms,

Flowers from a step’s parentheses,

Who brought you these

flowers in winter

Sprinkled with the sea’s sand?

Sand of your kisses, flowers

of faded loves

Your lovely eyes are ashes

and in the hearth

A moan-beribboned heart

Burns with its sacred images.

Dreams (Сон)

In the world there is nothing
More desired than sleep
It has enchantments
It has peace
It has on its lips
Neither sorrow nor laughter
And in fathomless eyes
Many secret pleasures
It has a wide two wings
And light so light
As midnight haze
One cannot understand how it carries
Where and on what
Its wings do not flap
And shoulders do not move.

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