Franz Werfel

(10 September 1890 – 26 August 1945 / Prague)

Das Bleibende


Solang noch der Tatrawind leicht
slowakische Blumen bestreicht,
so lang wirken Mädchen sie ein
in trauliche Buntstickerei'n.
Solang noch im bayrischen Wald
die Axt im Morgengraun hallt,
so lang auch der Einsame sitzt,
der Gott und die Heiligen schnitzt.
Solang auf ligurischer Fahrt
das Meer seine Fischer gewahrt,
so lang wird am Strand es schaun
die spitzenklöppelnden Fraun.
Ihr Völker der Erde, mich rührt
das Bleibende, das ihr vollführt.
Ich selbst, ohne Volk, ohne Land,
stütz' nun meine Stirn in die Hand.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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