Es geht ein Wehen, Op. 62, No. 6 (Johannes Brahms)

From ChoralWiki
Revision as of 10:53, 12 February 2017 by Williamsbot (talk | contribs)
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Music files

L E G E N D Disclaimer How to download
ICON SOURCE
File details.gif File details
Question.gif Help


  • CPDL #23480:     
Editor: Robert Urmann (submitted 2011-05-06).   Score information: Executive, 3 pages, 156 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: see Sieben Lieder, Op. 62 for a complete edition
  • CPDL #00707:      (Finale 2004)
Editor: Rafael Ornes (submitted 2000-02-25).   Score information: Letter, 3 pages, 68 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes:
Error.gif Possible error(s) identified. Error summary: wrong notes in the Alto-part in bar 1-2, corrected in Finale file

General Information

Title: Es geht ein Wehen, Op. 62, No. 6 [I hear a sighing]
Work: Sieben Lieder, Op. 62 [Seven Songs]
Composer: Johannes Brahms

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: SecularPartsongLied

Language: German
Instruments: A cappella

{{Published}} is obsolete (code commented out), replaced with {{Pub}} for works and {{PubDatePlace}} for publications.

Description:

External websites:

  • Scanned score of the first print from Brahms Institute at the University of Music Lübeck (Germany)

Original text and translations

German.png German text

Es geht ein Wehen durch den Wald,
die Windsbraut hör’ ich singen.
Sie singt von einem Buhlen gut,
und bis sie dem in Armen ruht,
muß sie noch weit in bangem Mut
sich durch die Lande schwingen.

Der Sang, der klingt so schauerlich,
der klingt so wild, so trübe;
das heiße Sehnen ist erwacht:
mein Schatz, zu tausend gute Nacht!
Es kommt der Tag, eh du’s gedacht,
der eint getreue Liebe!

  English.png English translation

I hear a sighing thro’ the wood,
the tempest bride is singing;
her song is of her lover true,
for him the world she ranges trough,
the broken boughs her way bestrew,
while she to him is winging.

How wild and weary is her song,
into my soul ’thas darted;
it wakes the pangs I fain would quell,
the hour when last we spoke Farewell!
The bitter grief that then befell,
when, o my love, we parted.