Along the ravine, above the precipice, on the very edge I beat my stallions with the whip, - I urge them on, - But I canít get enough air, I drink the wind, I swallow the fog, I Feel, with disastrous delight - that I am failing, failing! A bit slower, stallions, a bit slower! Youíre hard and donít follow the whip! But something tells me that these stallions are fastidious And I didnít succeed in surviving, and wonít succeed in finishing singing! I shall water the stallions, I shall finish the couplet, - Perhaps a bit longer Iíll stand at the edge!.. I will bend, the hurricane will blow me away like a downy feather, And in the sleigh I gallop along the morning snow. Change to an unhurried trot, my stallions! Just a little bit, prolong this trip to our final shelter! A bit slower, stallions, a bit slower! My whip and club are not punishments to you! But something tells me that these stallions are fastidious And I didnít succeed in surviving, and wonít succeed in finishing singing! I shall water the stallions, I shall finish the couplet, - Perhaps a bit longer Iíll stand at the edge!.. We made it - on a visit to God there are no delays. So why are the angels singing with such evil voices? Or is the bell completely demented from all the sobbings, Or will I shout to my stallions that they donít bear the sleigh so quickly? A bit slower, stallions, a bit slower! I beg you not to fly at a gallop! But something tells me that these stallions are fastidious And I didnít succeed in surviving, and wonít succeed in finishing singing! I shall water the stallions, I shall finish the couplet, - Perhaps a bit longer Iíll stand at the edge!..
© Peter Struwwel. Translation, ?