Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By S. Frug (Trans. Alice Stone Blackwell)Autumn Songs
T
And all that stirs within a poet’s heart?
Will they believe how deep can be his sadness,
How burning and incurable the smart?
Since first from out the mud he raised
And stood upon his feet, and managed shortly
To look like other people, God be praised!
On Sabbath days the Scripture to explain
And as he listened, full of deep contrition
He sighed and sobbed; his tears fell down like rain.
A man of brains, a youth sharp-witted, quick,
And in his verse he would find refreshment,
And with his tongue would click.
Or else at fairs, a tale,—upon my word,
It is the very drollest thing that ever
Was seen or heard.
One reads and laughs till one is like to split.
One laughs, because to that intent and purpose
The thing was writ.
Contains it then so much at which to smile?
Are there so many things away from sadness
The stricken heart one moment to beguile?
Let’s reckon now and see if we can tell:
We weep throughout the fast-day of Atonement,
The rich and poor, the young and old as well.
We weep the daylight and the darkness through,
And are we not to laugh a little ever?
Go, let us be! why that would never do!
To laugh they will continue, just so long
As there shall live a Jew—then hush, be silent
My song, my melancholy song.