Lorelei

Lorelei (H. Heine)

 (pokus o anglickou verzi)

 I don´t  know, what made me worry,

what made me in a minute sad,

I want to tell you an old story,

in which a man became a mad,

 It´s  chilly, dark is growing there,

River is calm, silent and lazy,

what´s  phantastic - that´s cliff´s one´s glare,

by sunshine made - and very dazy,

 There is sitting a gorgeous girl,

on the cliff´s top - as a queen,

she must be adored by any earl,

by any man, by begger, dean,

 She´s combing her golden hair,

a golden comb in hand,

she´s singig - so sweat - to air,

and the song is without end,

 A sailor stays in his small boat,

he doesen´t see one´s life big thief,

as a slave he cannot vote,

he´s hit by song and killed by cliff,

 He disappeared in too wild wave,

too wild for him - he in wave hid,

he happy was - but wasn´t safe,

and that Lorelei really did