Classic Poem

I

Rings is the day of All Souls
full of melancholy and full of fragrance of flowers,
smolder and hundreds of colorful lights
from the field of peace in the air.

Post palms today and roses;
the gardener arranges them with meaning-
and returns to the corner of the unbelievers
the old, withered flowers out.

II

┬╗J OW pray, Willy, and do not talk! "
With great August obeys the Knab.
The father lays the wreath mignonettes
on his poor wife's grave.

"The mother sleeps here! Take a cross now! "
Little Willy looks up and makes
as he was told. Oh, it reuts now.
that he laughed on the way out!

It stabs him in the eye-like crying ...
Then they go home through the night;
quite serious and silent. Since attracts the little ones
the output of the stalls abruptly splendor.

It flashes through November fog
lichtbeglänzter over trifles;
he sees there horses, helmets, swords
and kisses his father's hand softly.

And who knows, then they go on ...
The father looks so sad. -
But a gingerbread tab
Willy drags himself blessed home.