"Annettes Lieder" genre: Chamber Music
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	3 art-songs for soprano, cello and piano. Sung in German.
	Credits: Lisa Delan, soprano; Lena Bonhorst, cello; Kristin Pankonin, piano
	Story Behind the Song Lyrics by Annette von Droste Hulshoff (1797-1848)Commissioned by Mimi Ruiz Lyrics Trans. by David Garner I. In the Meadow Sweet respite, sweet reverie in the grass, breathing the aroma of the herbs; deep water, deep-drunken water! Whenever the clouds float by in the zenith, whenever my head swims with weariness, a sweet laughter comes tinkling down, a loving voice, sighing like the leaves of the linden tree over a grave. When the Dead come to mind, Each corpse wakens and stretches in my breast, Lightly, so lightly drawing breath, and the eyelids flutter open— Loves past, joys past, times past. All these treasures, locked up tight! brushing each other with timid sounds, like the tinkling of wind-chimes. O Hours, how you fly by like the kiss of sunbeams on the troubled sea: Like a distant bird-song, trickling down from the sky: Like the flash of a beetle’s wings as it passes through the path of the sun, Like the warm touch of another's hand, lingering in a final farewell. Therefore, I ask Heaven only this: For each bird-song in the blue sky, my soul to accompany it; for each colored sunbeam, a bright border of light around my soul; the warm touch of another’s hand in mine; and for each of my dreams, a waking joy. II. Am Turm Ich steh’ auf hohen Balkone am Turm, umstrichen vom schreienden Stare, und lass’ gleich einer Mänade den Sturm mir wühlen im flatternden Haare; O wilder Geselle, o toller Fant, ich möchte dich kräftig umschlingen, und Sehne am Sehne, zwei Schritte von Rand auf Tod und Leben dann ringen! Und drunten seh’ ich am Strand, so frisch, wie spielende Doggen, die Wellen, sich tummeln Rings mit Gekläff und Gezisch, und glänzende Flocken schnellen; O, springen möcht’ich hinein alsbald, recht in die tobende Meute, und jagen durch den korallenen Wald, das Walross, die lustige Beute! Und drüben seh’ ich ein Wimpel wehn so keck wie eine Standarte, seh’ auf und nieder den Kiel sich drehn von meiner luftige Warte; O, sitzen möcht’ich im kämpfenden Schiff, das Steuerruder ergreifen, und zischen über das brandende Riff wie eine Seemöve streifen. Wär’ ich ein Jäger von freier Flur, ein Stück nur von einem Soldaten, wär’ ich ein Mann doch mindestens nur, so würde der Himmel mir raten; nun muß ich sitzen so fein und klar, gleich einem artigen Kinde, und darf ich heimlich losen mein Haar’ und lassen es flattern im Winde! II. On the Tower I stand on the balcony of the high tower, with the shrieking starlings, and like a Mænad let my hair loose in the Storm; You wild man, you rogue! I long to test your strength, and, hip to hip, two paces from the edge, wrestle for Life and Death! And down below on the shore so fresh, I see the breakers sporting like hounds, tumbling with yelps and snarls, amid the shining foam. O, if I could only leap in with them, right into the middle of the fray! and hunt with them, through the forests of coral, that merry beast, the walrus! Down there I see a little pennant whipping as bravely as a mighty standard, and also that little dory do I spy from my airy perch; O, I want so much to stand at the helm of a battleship gripping the tiller, and fly hissing over the breaking reefs, like the screeching seagulls do! If I were only a hunter in the open fields, or even a lowly foot-soldier; if I only had the strength that Heaven will not grant me... But I must sit here, so frail and weak, like a little girl. Only, when none can see, I can let down my hair, and let it blow in the wind! III. Der Weiher Er liegt so still in Morgenlicht, so friedlich, wie ein fromm Gewissen; wenn Weste seinen Spiegel küßen, des Ufers Blume fühlt es nicht. Libellen zittern über ihn, blaugoldne Stäbchen und karmin, und auf sonnenbildes Glanz die Wasserspinner führt den Tanz. Schwertlilienkranz am Ufer steht und horcht des Schilfers Schlummerliede; einer Lindes säuseln kommt und geht, als flüstre’s: Friede, Friede, Friede! III. The Weir It lies so still in the morning’s light, so peaceful, like a quiet conscience. Whenever the westwind kisses its mirrored face, the flowers on the shore feel it not. Dragonflies flit over it, little iridescent rods of carmine and blue, and in the flashing sunlight, the water-spider leads a dance. By the bank, a stand of iris listens to the lullaby of the reeds; and, throughout it all, a gentle breath comes and goes, as if everything is whispering: Peace!

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