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
out this blog from time to time for news and updates. Have a great one!
© 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.
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