Und wüssten's die Blumen, die kleinen
And if the Flowers only knew

Dichterliebe A Poet's Love


And if the flowers only knew
How deep was my distress,
They would add their tears to mine
To help me suffer less.

And were the nightingale aware
That I am sick with sorrow,
She'd cheer my spirits instantly
And not wait for the morrow.

If to the stars my pain were known,
The golden constellation
Would descend from up on high
To grant me consolation.

But the whole world cannot know
Of the pain within my heart.
She alone knows; she who tore,
Who tore my heart apart.