Im Walde
In the Forest

Schulze

I wander over hill and dale
And over the green heather
Accompanied by constant pain
That wonít let go of me again.
And even if I sailed the seas,
Iíd not escape from this disease.

Many a flower in the field
Blooms that Iíve not seen.
Thereís just one flower I can see;
It grows along the wayside lea;
Iíve often stooped to see it near,
But never picked it, that is clear.

The bees are humming in the grass,
Hung fast to all the blossom.
My eyes grow troubled, overflow,
How to control this, I donít know.
You lips, so sweet and soft and pink,
I will no more your nectar drink.

The birds sing sweetly here and there
Perched in the tree-tops on their nest.
Iíd like to join in with their song,
But my sad voice does not belong,
For joyous love, an aching heart,
Both now desire to stay apart.

Up in the sky, on wings, I see
The clouds move on majesticílly,
The wave is purling soft and light,
Destined to ebb and flow aright,
Yet when the wind at last grows still,
The clouds and waves unite at will.

I wander here, I wander there
In storm and in fair weather,
Yet I can find it nevermore,
Cannot pursue it anymore.
O, loveís yearning, O loveís pain,
When will the wanderer rest again?