The Wanderer (English text)

   I come from the mountains
   The valley is steaming, the sea is roaring.
   I walk quietly, I am not very happy
   And the sigh always asks where?
   The sun seems so cold to me here,
   The blossom withered, the life old,
   And what they are talking about, empty sound;
   I am a stranger everywhere.
   Where are you my beloved country
   Wanted, suspected, and never known!
   The land, the land so green of hope
   The land where my roses bloom.
   Where my dreams go
   Where my dead rise
   The country that speaks my language
   O country where are you? . . .
   I walk quietly, I am not very happy
   And the sigh always asks where?
   It sounds back to me in a ghostly breath:
   "Where you are not, there is happiness."