Swedish Art Songs

There is nothing like expectation, weeks of spring floods, budding time, the daylight of May doesn’t diffuse like that of a brightening April. Walk down the last slippery path, the forest gives its damp freshness and its deep whistling. I would trade summer’s sensuous pleasure for the first blades of grass that shine in a dusky pine hollow, and the first trill of the nightingale.

Nothing is like longing time, years of waiting, engagement time. No spring spreads a shimmer like a secret heart’s love. Rare meetings and certain partings, to dream of all that is sweet and dangerous life carries in its womb! Others may seek the gilded fruit of autumn; I will wait and go without, in my paradise I will keep vigil, while the trees bud there.

You just walk across the meadows, and every spring comes to life, every tuft of grass sings your name. The clouds burn and the trees whistle and drop leaves like gold in your lap.

And by the foamy shores I hear your comforting voice rocking in a wave’s murmur. Stretch out your beloved hands. Darkness shall be frightened away. Torment will leave my breast.

You just walk across the meadows, I just see you wander in the distance, and those eternal strains tremble. Tell me who gives you the power which becomes this melody?

Lovely to meet you, orchid, where you stand pale among the grass and breathe out after the sun has set, your fragrance, your heart’s essence.

So tender to hear your song, nightingale, on the lookout in the highest fir tree, You rejoice in the break of night as you sense the blushing morning.

But teach me, gentle orchid, your sorrow, when joy has disappeared! Nightingale, teach me to understand your joy, my belief in happier moments!

The girl came from meeting her lover, came with her hands all red. Said her mother: “What has made your hands so red, girl?” Said the girl: “I was picking roses and pricked my hands on the thorns.”

Again she came from meeting her lover, came with her lips all red. Said her mother: “What has made your lips so red, girl?” Said the girl: “I was eating raspberries and stained my lips with the juice.”

Again she came from meeting her lover, came with her cheeks all pale. Said her mother: “What has made your cheeks so pale, girl?” Said the girl: “Oh mother, dig a grave for me, Hide me there and set a cross above, And on the cross write as I tell you:

Once she came home with her hands all red, … they had turned red between her lover’s hands. Once she came home with her lips all red, … they had turned red beneath her lover’s lips. The last time she came home with her cheeks all pale, … they had turned pale at her lover’s faithlessness.”

Take my heart in your hands, but take it carefully and take it kindly, my red heart – not it is yours.

It beats so calmly, it beats so quietly, for it has loved, and it has suffered, now it is quiet – now it is yours.

And it can be hurt, and it can fail, and it can forget, and often does, but it never forgets that it is yours.

It was so strong and so proud, my heart, it slept and dreamt in pleasure and play, now it can be broken – but only by you.

The forest is silent, the sky is clear. Hearken to the lullaby of the shepherd’s horn, Echoing among valleys and green hills As the sun quietly descends.

The water ripples and the wind plays; Wind and water embrace. Behind sparse and scattered copses fields of golden rye wave back and forth. Only you are missing. My heart beats more slowly. Today I can hear faint music Lulling me to sleep.

The clouds float like white swans above the sea of heaven, but they fly silently, for swans sing only as they die. I have suffered pain and hardship; It is hard to be a beggar. I want to fly with the white swans, fly with the swans to you.

Thought, only the night can see your struggles! Music, my thoughts want to rest with you. Heart, suffering at the break of day! Music, to you, to you it would fly.

In Spring a linden tree buds green with roses and violets. Under it sits a maiden fair, sewing in bright sunshine.

She is herself like a sun in Spring, like the apple is her cheek. When at the mirror she loosens her hair, it falls like flowers from a linden tree.

Like the sun is caught by linden leaves, she captures soul and mind, thus she has bound me with magical songs and conquered my heart.

The forest sleeps. A ray of sunlight flickers in the firmament. Day stands guard through the June night. Her merry laughter has just fallen silent; Already she is asleep. I sat down, mute, by her side. Love stands guard over its treasure; Love stands guard through the June night.

Sweden, Sweden, Sweden, fatherland, land of our longings, our home on earth! Now bells ring where armies fight with fire and heroic deeds became legends; but hand in hand your people still swear the ancient oaths of loyalty.

Fall, Christmas snow, and murmur, pines and heathe! Burn, eastern stars, through the June night! Sweden, mother! our struggle, our peace, our country where one day our children shall live, and where our fathers sleep in the church yard.