WENN ICH AN DEINEM HAUSE

I Pass beneath thy dwelling Each morning, and am fain, My child, to see thee watching Still at thy window-pane. With black-brown eyes of wonder Thou dost my going scan: “Who art thou, and what ails thee, Thou sorrowful foreign man?” I am a German poet, Among the Germans famed— There, when they count their greatest, My name is also named. And, little one, what ails me Ails Germans not a few; Count they the sorest sorrows, They name my sorrows too.