Der Kranke
The Sick Man

Eichendorff

Is it time for me to leave you,
Earth, happy home of all my fathers?
Heart-felt love, intrepid hatred,
Are they really, truly past?

At the window, through the lime trees
Breezes play a gentle greeting,
Do they really mean to tell me,
Soon my Maker Iíll be meeting?

Blue and distant my dear mountains,
Quiet river in the vale,
How I missed the wings to take me
Soaring over hill and dale!

Now Deathís Angelís wings are straining,
I recoil into myself;
Indescribable is the yearning
Drawing me back to all lifeís wealth.