The Youth At The Stream

By Friedrich Schiller

Translator
Bahjat Abbas

Beside the stream sat the boy,
He wove flowers into a wreath,
Threw them in the stream,
And saw them driven away,
Dancing beneath the waves.

And so my days are fleeing.
Like the waves flowing restless in that way.
And so my flowers of youth fade.
As the wreaths wither fast.

Do not ask why I am sad.
In the blossom’s time of life,
When everyone is enjoying and hoping,
When the spring renews itself,
But these thousand songs,
Of the awakened nature,
In my deep heart awake
Nothing but the ponderous grief!

What can the pleasure bring to me
When it has spoiled my beautiful spring ?
It is only one that I am seeking,
She is near and eternally far!
Longing stretch my arms
After her precious phantom,
Ah! I can not reach it!
And my heart remains unconsoled!

Come down! You gracious sweetheart,
And leave your splendid hall!
Flowers, which the spring has born,
I scatter them on your lap!
Listen! The home resounds the songs,
And the stream flows crystal pure.
A space in the smallest hut
is for a happy loving pair!

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