Ze s’iz harbst, Un vos gegrint fargelt, farvyanet
Ze s’iz harbst, Un vos geblit fargeyt
Un ikh vos kh'hob gemeynt S’iz shtendik friling
Un kh'halt in hant Di gantse eybikeyt
Oho, falndike bleter! Oho, fliyendike teg!
Oho, vi vel ikh itster blondzhen
Ven s’ligt gedikhter nepl Af mayn veg
Krakn feygl, zogn troyerik: Krekhst in fentster
Un se klogt der vint
„o, vi volt ikh itst avek fun danen
Tsun a breg Vu nokh der friling grint...“
Flit der regn - A galop af vildn ferdl
Roymt mir ayn a sod: Er hot mikh holt
„tsu vos-zhe darftsu Vartn afn friling
Az s’hot der osyen fule koyshns gold.“
This is my more literal translation effort:
See, it’s autumn! And what was green is gold & withered;
See, it’s autumn! And what blooms is gone.
And I, who thought it would always be spring, and would hold eternity in my hand.
Chorus: Oho, falling leaves, oho, flying days!
Oho, how will I wander now, when a thick fog stands in my way.
Cawing birds speak sadly, caw in the window, and the wind howls. Oh how I want to go to a land of green spring!
The rain flies, a gallop of wild horses, tells me a secret, Why do you wish for spring when there are baskets full of gold?
Here is yet another translator's more poetic translation:
Oh, all the leaves are falling
Oh, the summer days are gone
Oh, the fog is in the valley
So how am I to know the road I’m on?
Birds are headed south outside my window
And the wind lets out a high & lonesome sigh
It whispers how it wishes it were somewhere
Far away where summer fills the sky
Oh, all the leaves are falling
Oh, the days all slip away
Oh, the fog is in the valley
How can November ever turn to May?
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