LXIII
Josef Štýbr translation
Now go, my darling children, go— This is no more your station; Accept for your quaint journey yet Your father’s osculation! May be, somewhere they’ll honor you And offer you receptions; But somewhere they may criticise— Be ready for exceptions! But let your mind not be disturbed Nor wrinkles in face driven: All kinds of men live in the world, But few to love are given.