XV. Aus alten Marchen winkt es (From olden tales it flings out)
Dichterliebe (A Poets Love) Op. 48. Serie 13. No 15.
Robert Schumann
From olden tales it flings outA beckoning white hand;It sings out and it rings outFrom an enchanted landWhere blossoms tall and slenderIn the gold-lit eventideLook up with eyes as tenderAs the eyes of a loving bride Where all the trees … Read More
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From olden tales it flings outA beckoning white hand;It sings out and it rings outFrom an enchanted landWhere blossoms tall and slenderIn the gold-lit eventideLook up with eyes as tenderAs the eyes of a loving bride Where all the trees have voicesAnd sing their choral chants,And every rill rejoicesIn music for the dance And songs of love are throngingSuch as you never heardTill hearts with sweetest longingAre wonder-sweetly stirred!Ah, could I only go thereAnd free my heart of pain,And banish all my woe there,Be free and blest again!Ah, land of bliss undying,I see it oft in dreams.When dawn comes, it goes flyingLike foam in the morning beams.