When, Germany, I think of thee
At night, all slumber flies from me;
I cannot close mine eyes for yearning,
And down my cheeks run tears all burning.
How swiftly speeds each rolling year!
Since I have seen my mother dear
Twelve years have pass’d away; the longer
I wait, my yearning grows the stronger.
My yearning’s growing evermore;
That woman has bewitch’d me sore!
Dear, dear old woman! with what fervour
I think of her! may God preserve her!
The dear old thing in me delights,
And in the letters that she writes
I see how much her hand is shaking,—
Her mother’s heart, how nearly breaking!
My mother’s ever in my mind;
Twelve long long years are left behind,
Twelve years have follow’d on each other
Since to my heart I clasp’d my mother.
For ages Germany will stand;
Sound to the core is that dear land!
Its oaks and lindens I shall ever
Find just the same, they alter never.
For Germany I less should care
If my dear mother were not there;
My fatherland will never perish
But she may die, whom most I cherish.
Since I my native land saw last,
Into the tomb have many pass’d
Whom I so loved—When of them thinking
How sadly bleeds my spirit sinking!
I needs must count them,—as I count
My sorrows higher, higher mount;
I feel as though each corpse were lying
Upon my breast—Thank God, they’re flying!
Thank God! for through the window-pane
France’s clear daylight breaks again;
My fair wife enters, sweetly smiling,
And all my German cares beguiling!