Classic Poem

German freedom, in the mire
You no more shall soil your feet.
Boots and stockings for the street
You shall have to heart's desire.

And your head a cap shall sport,
Made of fur whose comfort warm
Will protect your ears from harm
When the days are bleak and short.

You shall even have your food —
Ah, the future that is dawning! —
But be sure no satyr fawning
Tempts you further than is good!

Be not bold to court disasters!
Show the reverence that inferiors
Ought to yield to their superiors,
And respect your burgomasters.