Without a Harp is the Song The waters softly murmur in the lake, A gentle breeze moves through the woods, Holding secret pain and deep sorrow, Violets bloom beneath the thorn bush. You free word that sounds through the air, In songs that pierce the heart, Human, where will fate take us? What is it that is in store? Welcome, beautiful day, that smiles at me, Bringing questions from old times, What have I done, When roses and stars guide me? A tree, its leaves gently kissed by the wind, On the mountains, the rough work falls silent, My bare hands find what they are, And stretch out, ready for life. Neither pearl jewelry nor gentle wandering, Not butterflies without number, Quite alone, abandoned in my actions, Abandoned in the silent valley. Out into distant, quiet expanses, The banished one is drawn like a child, Wants to glide over flower meadows In spirit, gentle and mild. Every sharp, bitter word of pain, Without a harp, the song rings, The noble melody of the heart Takes pity, still in peace.
