Verborgenheit



Lass, o Welt, o lass mich sein!
Locket nicht mit Liebesgaben,
Lasst dies Herz alleine haben
Seine Wonne, seine Pein!

Was ich traure, weiss ich nicht,
Es ist unbekanntes Wehe;
Immerdar durch Traenen sehe
Ich der Sonne liebes Licht.

Oft bin ich mir kaum bewusst,
Und die helle Freude zuecket
Durch die Schwere, so mich druecket
Wonniglich in meiner Brust.

Lass, o Welt, o lass mich sein!
Locket nicht mit Liebesgaben,
Lasst dies Herz alleine haben
Seine Wonne, seine Pein!



Eduard Moerike   1832


Solitude



Let, o world, o let me be!
Lure me not with what love giveth,
Make this heart of mine content with
Its own pleasure, its own grief!

What grieves me, I know it not,
It is some unheard-of thorn;
Yet through my tears I will see
The warming sunlight come the morn.

Oft when I forget myself   
A savory pleasure lifts my gloom,
'tis then I feel from deep within
My infirm spirit at once renewed.

Let me, o world, o let me be!
Lure me not with what love giveth,
Make this heart of mine content with
Its own pleasure, its own grief!



Translation: Charles L. Cingolani     Copyright © 2011
At the time of writing this poem Mörike had been engaged to Luise Rau for two years but saw no
prospects of securing a position which would make it possible for them to marry. At the same time
he was increasingly dissatisfied with being Protestant minister. In a letter to his friend Johannes
Mährlen in February 1828 he wrote: "Anything, but not a Pastor!"
. . . . A poem so characteristic of Moerike, the shy, retiring and burdened pastor-poet . . .