Adelbert von Chamisso (1781–1838)

Anonymous Translation

THEY say the year is in its summer glory:

But thou, O Sun, appearest chill and pale,

The vigour of thy youth begins to fail,—

Say, art thou, too, becoming old and hoary?

Old Age, forsooth!—what profits our complaining?

Although a bitter guest and comfortless,

One learns to smile beneath its stern caress,

The fated burden manfully sustaining:

’Tis only for a span, a summer’s day.

Deep in the fitful twilight have I striven,

Must now the even-feast of rest be holding:

One curtain falls,—and, lo! another play!

“His will be done whose mercy much has given?”

I’ll pray,—my grateful hands to heaven folding.