Classic Poem

A VAIER

TO

HIS SON

As the heavens skies with roses
Gently caress the spring morning;
Child, so you flatters
Nows the äu├ƒre luck in your youth days,
Tears you saw only; still struggled no complaints
Herfür be out of your chest.

But look! the grove, which hardly entzücket,
Tips, suddenly the storm rages, zerknicket
If the Rosenblum!
O it, son, with our sense pleasures is
Our gold, our glories bright,
So with our Flitterruhm.

Only the highest reflection of the righteous,
Which in the Schrock union battles
Between desire and duty
That is wrung, the higher wisdom Vote
Come ye, despite the selfishness hot Grimme,
The heavy touring with his heart stings.

Whose lust carries from here the stretcher
Not, it does not delete the stream of years,
Not eternity:
Lights can be 'it in the last flashes,
Sit and be settled by the world revolution
Without Menschenbangigkeit.