Friedrich Rückert

Rookie (16.May1788 - 31. January 1866 / Schweinfurt)


Poem by Friedrich Rückert

My dearest stands before me in my thoughts,
how pretty, oh how fair!
so that my senses are dazed, unhinged;
how pretty, how fair!
She smiled at me with her face
so lovely, o so lovely,
so that those radiant beams vibrated through my heart,
how pretty, how fair!

The brightness of her rosy cheeks
beckons me to take pleasure,
and her wavy tresses stream down darkly,
how pretty, o how fair!
How lovely are her narcissus-eyes
when they awaken in dew,
and when they droop intoxicated into slumber,
how pretty, how fair, oh how fair!

The palm-trees from Eden, that in dreams
I have long sought for,
I have found in her slender figure,
oh how fair!
The source of life, for which I thirsted,
refreshed me
when my lips drank from yours,
how pretty, how fair!

The hopes of my spirit, the fancies of my soul,
your dream, Fantasy,
is now walking about in corporeal form,
how pretty, how fair!
The flowers of Spring, the stars of the sky -
you bring them in a wreath
you have made for me. How can I thank you?
How fair, how pretty, oh how fair!

Comments about Adoration by Friedrich Rückert

  • Paul AmrodPaul Amrod (7/25/2015 5:09:00 PM)

    Hi This is Paul. I have lived in Germany for over 33 years and wish to present a German version of Friedrich Rückert. He was a master of the Romantic from Franken. This site should for all of us present the fabulous sound of the German lyric! The Winter Nightingale is one of my favorites. Enjoy! !

    Die Winternachtigall

    So laut im Winterzimmer schmettert
    Die Nachtigall,
    Daß sich ein Frühlingshain beblättert
    An ihrem Schall:
    Zum blauen Himmel wird die Decke
    Und jede Wand zur grünen Hecke,
    Zur Schattengrotte jede Dunkelecke,
    Des Vorhangs Weh'n zu Bäche-Rieselfall.

    Nur wenn der Himmel oft so schaurig
    Durchs Fenster schaut,
    Dann klagt die Nachtigall so traurig
    Den Klagelaut,
    Als wollte sie ihr Los verklagen,
    Daß sie in Winterhaft muß schlagen
    Und schweigen einst, wann in beglücktern Tagen
    Der freie Frühling seinen Tempel baut.

    Doch laß dich das nur nicht verdrießen
    Und singe zu!
    Ein Lenz muß auch im Winter sprießen,
    Den wirkest du.
    O Himmelskehl' im Zeitenfroste,
    Du bist gegeben uns zum Troste;
    Sing' nur, und ob es dir die Seele koste,
    In jede Seele Sehnsucht, Schmerz und Ruh'.

    Friedrich Rückert(Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 7, 2006

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 4, 2010