In the forest
(Poet's title: Im Walde)
Set by Schubert:
D 834
[March 1825]
Ich wandre über Berg und Tal
Und über grüne Heiden,
Und mit mir wandert meine Qual,
Will nimmer von mir scheiden;
Und schifft’ ich auch durch’s weite Meer,
Sie käm auch dort wohl hinterher.
Wohl blühn viel Blumen auf der Flur,
Die hab ich nicht gesehen,
Denn Eine Blume seh ich nur
Auf allen Wegen stehen;
Nach ihr hab ich mich oft gebückt
Und doch sie nimmer abgepflückt.
Die Bienen summen durch das Gras
Und hängen an den Blüten;
Das macht mein Auge trüb und nass,
Ich kann mir’s nicht verbieten.
Ihr süßen Lippen, rot und weich,
Wohl hing ich nimmer so an euch.
Gar lieblich singen nah’ und fern
Die Vögel auf den Zweigen,
Wohl säng ich mit den Vögeln gern,
Doch muss ich traurig schweigen;
Denn Liebeslust und Liebespein,
Die bleiben jedes gern allein.
Am Himmel seh ich flügelschnell
Die Wolken weiter ziehen,
Die Welle rieselt leicht und hell,
Muss immer nah’n und fliehen;
Doch haschen, wenn’s vom Winde ruht,
Sich Wolk’ und Wolke, Flut und Flut.
Ich wandre hin, ich wandre her,
Bei Sturm und heitern Tagen,
Und doch erschau ich’s nimmermehr
Und kann es nicht erjagen;
O! Liebessehnen, Liebesqual,
Wann ruht der Wanderer einmal?
I tramp over hills and valleys
And across green heathlands,
And my distress tramps alongside me,
It will never leave me;
And even if I were to get on a ship and travel across the broad sea
It would still follow along behind me there.
Although there are lots of flowers blossoming in the meadow
I have not seen them,
For I can only see a single flower
Standing on all the pathways.
I have often bent down towards it
But I have never plucked it.
The bees buzz through the grass
And attach themselves to the blossoms;
That makes my eyes go blurred as tears well up,
I have no control over it.
You sweet lips, red and soft,
I definitely never attached myself to you in the same way!
There is so much love in the singing (nearby and in the distance)
Of the birds in the branches;
I would happily sing along with the birds,
But I have to remain sad and silent,
For the pleasure of love and the pain of love
They each like to remain alone.
In the sky I can see, as fast as if they had wings,
The clouds passing along,
The waves are rippling gently and brightly,
They always have to approach and fly off;
But when the wind drops they catch up with each other,
Cloud catches cloud, ripple catches ripple.
I tramp here, I tramp there,
In storms and on fine days,
And yet I shall never again behold it,
And I can never catch it.
Oh longing of love, distress of love,
When is this wayfarer ever going to rest?
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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Themes and images in this text:
Bees and honey Bending Birds Clouds Eyes Fields and meadows Flowers Grass Green Heathland and moors Heaven, the sky Hills and mountains Lips Longing and yearning Near and far Noise and silence On the water – rowing and sailing Paths Red and purple Rest The sea Storms Sweetness Tears and crying Valleys Walking and wandering Waves – Welle Wind Woods – large woods and forests (Wald)
This is a text from Schulze’s Poetisches Tagebuch (Poetic Diary), where it has the title: ‘Im Walde hinter Falkenhagen. Den 22sten Julius 1814‘ (In the woods behind Falkenhagen. 22nd July 1814). Falkenhagen is a village to the east of Göttingen, where the poet had been a student and fallen in love first with Cäcilie Tychsen, and, after her death in December 1812, with her sister Adelheid. To show his devotion to Adelheid he had fought in the wars of liberation in 1813, but by the summer of 1814 the wars were over (Napoleon had been exiled to Elba and the European powers were planning the Congress of Vienna).
Schulze presents himself as a restless wanderer. Like so many soldiers he has returned from the wars and is unable to settle. He feels compelled to tramp the countryside, up hill and down dale, crossing fields, heaths and forests, yet he cannot shake off that unwelcome companion: his own distress. Even here in landlocked Saxony he knows that the same anxiety would accompany him if he sailed the seven seas.
He then makes it clear what the source of this anxiety is: his fixation with a specific ‘flower’. Such is its lure for him that he is blind to every other blossom in the fields and the woods. He has bent down and admired many a flower but there is a particular one that he has not yet plucked. As the bees buzz and approach the blooms his eyes fill with tears: they have access to a bliss that is out of his reach. They are able to enter the ‘sweet red lips’ and then attach themselves (they become literally ‘dependent’), as they hang by the proboscis from the nectaries in the flowers.
The lips he is obsessed with are clearly forbidden to him. He cannot join in with the singing of the birds, since he has not been able to pair off successfully in the same way as them. The imagery now changes from the fixed point, the unreachable lips. What now drives the poet is the experience of movement all around and within him. He sees the clouds scudding across the sky and the waves on the surface of the water. What he notices is that they never catch up with each other. The chase is endless. It is the same with his own pursuit of the beloved; he is no nearer the goal now than when he set off.
The only hope is that the wind will drop; the forces that are keeping the hunted and the hunter apart might lose their power. Such is the promise at the end of the penultimate stanza, yet the poet soon realises that it is not going to happen. He seems to be doomed to perpetual ‘wandering’, with no realistic prospect of rest. This is a longing that can never be assuaged, a turbulence that will never end.
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Original Spelling and note on the text Im Walde Ich wandre über Berg und Thal Und über grüne Haiden, Und mit mir wandert meine Qual, Will nimmer von mir scheiden; Und schifft' ich auch durch's weite Meer, Sie käm' auch dort wohl hinterher. Wohl blühn viel Blumen auf der Flur, Die hab' ich nicht gesehen, Denn Eine Blume seh' ich nur Auf allen Wegen stehen. Nach ihr hab' ich mich oft gebückt Und doch sie nimmer abgepflückt. Die Bienen summen1 durch das Gras Und hängen an den Blüthen; Das macht mein Auge trüb' und naß, Ich kann mir's nicht verbieten. Ihr süßen Lippen, roth und weich, Wohl hing ich nimmer so an euch! Gar lieblich singen nah' und fern Die Vögel auf den Zweigen; Wohl säng' ich mit den Vögeln gern, Doch muß ich traurig schweigen, Denn Liebeslust und Liebespein Die bleiben jedes gern allein. Am Himmel seh' ich flügelschnell Die Wolken weiter ziehen, Die Welle rieselt leicht und hell, Muß immer nahn und fliehen; Doch haschen, wenn's vom Winde ruht, Sich Wolk' und Wolke, Fluth und Fluth. Ich wandre hin, ich wandre her Bey Sturm und heitern Tagen, Und doch erschau' ich's nimmermehr Und kann es nicht erjagen. O Liebessehnen, Liebesqual, Wann ruht der Wanderer einmal? 1 Schubert changed Schulze's 'sumsen' (buzz loudly) to 'summen' (buzz)
Confirmed by Peter Rastl with Schubert’s source, Ernst Schulze’s sämmtliche poetische Schriften. Dritter Band. I. Poetisches Tagebuch. […] Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus. 1819, pages 69-70; and with Sämmtliche poetische Werke von Ernst Schulze. Neue Ausgabe mit sechszehn Kupfern. Dritter Theil. Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus. 1822, pages 70-71.
To see an early edition of the text, go to page 69 [85 von 336] here: http://digital.onb.ac.at/OnbViewer/viewer.faces?doc=ABO_%2BZ170542803