From her attic window, Jane looked over the garden, which was bathing in the pale light of the moon. Hearing the lament of a nightingale, an old, forgotten poem came to her mind. Below is an extract of that poem, titled: "In the Garden the Nightingale laments", by Friedrich Martin von Bodenstedt (1819-1892). Scroll down for the English translation.
Im Garten klagt die Nachtigall
Und hängt das feine Köpfchen nieder:
Was hilft's, daß ich so schöne Lieder
Und wundersüße Töne habe –
Solange ich mein grau Gefieder
Und nicht der Rose Schöne habe!
Und hängt das feine Köpfchen nieder:
Was hilft's, daß ich so schöne Lieder
Und wundersüße Töne habe –
Solange ich mein grau Gefieder
Und nicht der Rose Schöne habe!
Im Blumenbeet die Rose klagt:
Wie soll das Leben mir gefallen?
Was hilft's, daß vor den Blumen allen
Ich Anmut, Duft und Schöne habe –
Solang' ich nicht der Nachtigallen
Gesang und süße Töne habe!
In the garden the nightingale laments
And lets her fine little head hang down:
What's the use of having such beautiful songs
And wonderful sounds-
As long as I have my gray plumage
And not the rose's Beauty!
And lets her fine little head hang down:
What's the use of having such beautiful songs
And wonderful sounds-
As long as I have my gray plumage
And not the rose's Beauty!
In the flower bed the rose complains:
How should life please me?
What's the use that from all the flowers,
I have grace, fragrance and beauty-
As long as I don't have the nightingale's
singing and sweet tones!
I guess there is a moral to this poem, but I'll leave it up to you to figure out...
That's
all for now, folks! As always, thanks for visiting, and please check
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© José Pereira Torrejón. All rights reserved. No part of the content of this blog may be distributed, published or reproduced without prior authorization from the author.
