I come from the mountains;
the valley steams, the oceans roars.
I wander, silent and joyless,
And my sighs for ever ask: Where?

Here the sun seems to cold,
the blossom faded, life old,
and men’s words mere hollow noise;
I am a stranger everywhere.

Where are you, my beloved land?
Sought, dreamt of, yet never known!
The land so green with hope,
the land where my roses bloom,

Where my friends walk,
where my dead ones rise again,
the land that speaks my tongue,
O land, where are you?

I wander, silent and joyless,
and my sighs for ever ask: Where?
In a ghostly whisper the answer
comes:
‘There, where you are not, is
happiness!’