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Montag, 10. November 2008
Weisheit eines etwas älteren Dichters — in zehn Zeilen
kulturtempel, 23:38h
AN AUTOGRAPH
The years that since we met have flown
Leave as they found me, still alone:
No wife, nor child, nor grandchild dear,
Are mine the heart of age to cheer.
More favored thou, with hair less gray
Than mine, canst let thy fancy stray
To where thy little Constance sees
The prairie ripple in the breeze;
or one like her to lisp thy name
Is better than the voice of fame.
[Written for an old friend,
Rev. S.H. Emery, of Quincy,
Illinois, who revisited Whittier
in 1868.]
John Greenleaf Whittier
(1807-1892)
From: The Poetical Works
Oxford University Press, 1909
The years that since we met have flown
Leave as they found me, still alone:
No wife, nor child, nor grandchild dear,
Are mine the heart of age to cheer.
More favored thou, with hair less gray

Than mine, canst let thy fancy stray
To where thy little Constance sees
The prairie ripple in the breeze;
or one like her to lisp thy name
Is better than the voice of fame.
[Written for an old friend,
Rev. S.H. Emery, of Quincy,
Illinois, who revisited Whittier
in 1868.]
John Greenleaf Whittier
(1807-1892)
From: The Poetical Works
Oxford University Press, 1909
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