Lag: Páll Ísólfsson
Texti: Tómas Guðmundsson
Í harmanna helgilundum
Í harmanna helgilundum
enn hugur minn unir sér.
Þar líða í laufinu bleika
öll ljóðin sem kvað ég þér.
Að æskunnar engilfegurð
var enginn líki þinn.
Í gáskans léttúð og leiki
þú leiddist seinna inn.
Í harmanna helgilundum
enn hugur minn unir sér.
Ég krýp þar á hverju kvöldi
í kyrrðinni og bið fyrir þér.
Im heiligen Gebüsche des Kummers
Im heiligen Gebüsche des Kummers
fühle ich mich immer noch wohl.
Dort schweben im hellroten Laube
all meine Lieder an dich.
In der Jugend kannte ich keinen
der so schön war wie du.
Später hast du mir fröliche und
schöne Spiele beigebracht.
Im heiligen Gebüsche des Kummers
fühle ich mich immer noch wohl.
Dort kniee ich jeden Abend
In der Stille und bete für dich.
Übers. Elísabet Erlingsdóttir
In the holy Grove of the Sorrow
My thoughts still like to rest in the holy grove
of sorrow, because there, fluttering
through the leaves, are all the
poems, which I composed for you.
No youthful angel of beauty could compare to you.
You were drawn to light-hearted frivolity.
My thoughts still like to rest in the holy grove of sorrow
I kneel there each evening at dusk, and pray for you.
Transl. Elísabet Erlingsdóttir