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Reiten, reiten, reiten, durch den Tag

Language: German (Deutsch)

Reiten, reiten, reiten, durch den Tag, 
durch die Nacht, durch den Tag.
Reiten, reiten, reiten. Und der Mut ist so müde geworden
und die Sehnsucht so groß. Es gibt keine Berge mehr,
kaum einen Baum. Nichts wagt aufzustehen.
Fremde Hütten hocken durstig an versumpften Brunnen.
Nirgends ein Turm. Und immer das gleiche Bild. 
Man hat zwei Augen zuviel. Nur in der Nacht
manchmal glaubt man den Weg zu kennen.
Vielleicht kehren wir nächtens immer wieder
das Stück zurück, das wir in der fremden Sonne 
mühsam gewonnen haben? Es kann sein. 
Die Sonne ist schwer, wie bei uns tief im Sommer. 
Aber wir haben im Sommer Abschied genommen. 
Die Kleider der Frauen leuchteten lang aus dem Grün. 
Und nun reiten wir lang. Es muß also Herbst sein.
Wenigstens dort, wo traurige Frauen von uns wissen.

Translation(s): ENG FRE

Submitted by John Versmoren


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
    * ENG English (Knut W. Barde) , title 1: "Riding", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
    * FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Chevaucher, chevaucher, chevaucher, le jour", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.

Notes about what "text verified" means can be found here.

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Language: English

Riding, Riding, Riding, through the day, 
through the night, through the day. 
Riding, riding, riding.  And courage has grown so tired, 
and longing so great.  There are no more mountains, 
hardly a tree.  Nothing dares to stand up.
Foreign huts squat thirstily at muddied wells.
Nowhere a tower.  And always the same picture.  
One finds that one has two eyes too many.  Only at night 
does one sometimes believe one knows the way.  
Perhaps at night we always return 
to the stretch of road that 
we gained so painfully under the foreign sun?  It may be. 
The sun is heavy, as it is during the depth of our summer.  
But it was summer when we took our leave. 
The dresses of the women shimmered for a long time among the green.
And now we are riding along.  So it must be Autumn.  
At least in the place where sad women know of us.

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    * Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © by Knut W. Barde, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. Please contact the copyright-holder(s) when requesting permission to reprint and be sure to give proper credit, which MUST include the copyright symbol ©

Based on

Text added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.