Freude der Kinderjahre, D 455

The joy of childhood years

(Poet's title: Freude der Kinderjahre)

All translations into English that appear on this website, unless otherwise stated, are by Malcolm Wren. You are free to use them on condition that you acknowledge Malcolm Wren as the translator and schubertsong.uk as the source. Unless otherwise stated, the comments and essays that appear after the texts and translations are by Malcolm Wren and are © Copyright.

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Let us enter the playful spirit of the text and try two different approaches.

Reading A

There is nothing more delightful than the childlike twinkle in a grandfather’s eye as he joins in the fun. He still takes delight in simple pleasures and is happy to kick a ball, jump (or push somebody else) into a snow drift or go sledging. These things are as pleasurable in life’s ‘autumn’ as they were in ‘early spring’. The ‘joy’ that we first encounter in the world of play serves as the foundation for all of our later approach to life. We learn early on that cares can be shaken off, that tomorrow is another day, that we need to remain open to new experiences and new delights. Our positive outlook will stand us in good stead and we can pass it on to future generations. Even our grave can be a source of pleasure to others as we nourish the roses that grow out of our corpse.

Reading B

The speaker is being childish rather than childlike. He is trying to persuade us that he is having more fun than he really is, that all is well. If that were the case, why would he feel the need to assert so strongly that he still has the same delight in the world that he had when he was a kid wasting time spinning tops and chasing butterflies? (Incidentally, there can be no doubt that the speaker is a male, and a spoiled one at that: girls have rarely been allowed to be as free and active as this, and most children throughout human history have had none of the liberty assumed here).

‘Children’s cares are not big!’ he says (with an exclamation mark, no less!). We do not need to look much further than this to see that we cannot take this voice seriously. The cares of children are enormous, and it is very rare for them not to scar us for the rest of our lives. What sort of sensitive person could not be aware of this indubitable fact? We have to assume, therefore, that the poet is involved in some rhetorical trick to make us overlook the assaults inflicted by adults on children.

So we come to the central concept of the text, ‘Freude’ (joy or delight). The writer wants to argue that early childhood introduces us to a world of pleasure or contentment that never leaves us. The joys of childhood (or at least of boyhood) tend to be experienced through exploring and interacting with the physical environment. They are active (kicking, jumping, throwing, riding, falling, climbing, rolling). However, although they might be fun, it is hard to understand how (unless the boy becomes enormously proficient in one or more of these areas) they can offer deep and lasting satisfaction. All play and no work becomes tedious and empty. What most of us mean by ‘joy’ or ‘contentment’ in life has more to do with struggle and achievement rather than with escapism. Being carefree is all very well, but don’t we need to set ourselves challenges and experience anxiety as we attempt to reach our goals? Isn’t ‘joy’ or ‘fulfilment’ what comes as a result of such effort rather than what was waiting for us outside when we went out to play as little kids?

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Original Spelling and notes on the text

Freude der Kinderjahre

Freude, die im frühen Lenze 
Meinem Haupte Blumen wand, 
Sieh, noch duften deine Kränze, 
Noch geh' ich an deiner Hand. 
Selbst der Kindheit Knospen blühen 
Auf in meiner Fantasie; 
Und mit frischen Rosen1 glühen 
Noch in meinem Herbste sie.  

Früh schon kannt' ich dich! du wehtest 
Froh bei jedem Spiel um mich, 
Sprangst in meinem Balle, drehtest 
Leicht in meinem Kreisel dich; 
Liefst mit mir durch Gras2 und Hecken 
Flüchtig Schmetterlingen nach, 
Rittest mit auf bunten Stecken, 
Wirbeltest im Trommelschlag.  

Stürmte mit beeisten Locken 
Auch der Winter wild daher: 
O in seines Schnees Flocken 
Sah ich nur der Spiele mehr: 
Du, du selber, sprangest mitten 
Durch gethürmten Schnee mir vor, 
Saßest mit im kleinen Schlitten, 
Oder spanntest dich davor.  

Kamen auch zuweilen Sorgen: 
Kindersorgen sind nicht groß! 
Froh hüpft' ich am andern Morgen, 
Schaukelte die Sorgen los; 
Kletterte dir nach auf Bäume, 
Wälzte müd' im Grase mich; 
Und entschlief ich: süße Träume 
Zeigten mir im Bilde dich!  

Selig flohen Tag' und Jahre 
So an deiner Hand mir hin! - 
Bleicht der Herbst auch meine Haare; 
Doch bleibt mir dein froher Sinn. 
Kommt mein Winter; unvergessen 
Sei auch dann dein Freund von dir; 
Noch um meines Grabs Cypressen 
Schlinge deine Rosen mir!


1  Schubert changed Reize to Rosen ('glowing with a fresh attraction' to 'producing fresh roses')
2  Schubert changed Grab to Gras ('ditch' to 'grass')

Confirmed by Peter Rastl with Musen-Almanach fürs Jahr 1795. Herausgegeben von Johann Heinrich Voß. Hamburg bei Carl Ernst Bohn, pages 9-11.

This is the original version of Köpken’s poem. In 1801 he published a substantially revised version in his Episteln

Note: When this Schubert song was published by Friedlaender, only the first stanza of the poem was at hand, so he asked Max Kalbeck to provide an additional stanza, which was then included in the publication.

Über meiner Sehnsucht Brücke
Wand’l ich still zur alten Zeit,
Zu der Jugend offnem Glücke
Trag’ ich mein verschloss’nes Leid.
Dann wie treue Mutterhände
Rührt es an mich sanft und lind,
Und ich sink’ aufs Knie am Ende,
Lach’ und wein’ und bin ein Kind.

To see an early edition of the text, go to page 9  [45 von 242] here: http://digital.onb.ac.at/OnbViewer/viewer.faces?doc=ABO_%2BZ178664004