  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! |
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