This morning What shall I give you, my friend With my own hand? A morning song? The morning tires like a drooping flower In the scorching sun Tired, the song also comes to an end. At the end of the day What do you want from me, What can I give you, my friend? My evening lamp? It can light up only the corner of a lonely room You want to take it on your way Among the crowd? It will be blown out by the outside wind. To present you what do I have? Be it a flower or a necklace Their burden why will you bear Knowing it for certain Someday they will be stale or torn? Whatever I give you with my own hand It will slip through your negligent fingers It will fall on the dust It will become dust at last. It is better when you will find some time And wander in my garden in spring In an absent mind You will stop in your track Startled by an unknown fragrance It will be your present. When moving about in my bower A spell will fall on your eyes You will suddenly see In the evening darkness Vibrates a colorful light It will give a golden touch to your dreams That light is unknown That will be your present. Whatever is best in me Only shines in flashes Suddenly it appears And disappears in a moment. It doesn’t give out its name In ringing foot steps it leaves Thrilling the way with its song. I don’t know how to reach it However I may stretch out my hands In whatever words may I call. My friend, Whatever you get from there on your own To your own liking Without asking, without knowing That will be your present Whatever I can give you is trifling Be it a flower or a song.SourceThe script ran 0.006 seconds.
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