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Die Schöne Müllerin The Miller's pretty Daughter
Müller
My lute’s now hanging on the wall
Draped with green ribbon overall.
I no longer sing, my heart’s too sore;
In rhyme I can’t tell it any more.
Once, however great the pain which caused my heart to burn,
To light-hearted song this pain I’d turn,
And as I sang some sweet, well-wrought lament,
My suffering was, I thought, quite evident.
How great now is the burden of my joy
That to contain it I can no earthly sound employ.
Rest then, dear lute, here on your nail,
And if a breeze should move your strings,
Or bee should brush them with its wings,
Dread anguish will my heart assail.
Why did I let the long, green ribbon fly
To touch the strings with mournful sigh?
Is that the echo of a love for which my heart still longs?
Or could it be the prelude, the promise of new songs?
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