BEFORE this little gift was come
The little owner had made haste for home;
And from the door of where the eternal dwell,
Looked back on human things and smiled farewell.
O may this grief remain the only one!
O may our house be still a garrison
Of smiling children, and for evermore
The tune of little feet be heard along the floor!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
in winter i get up at nigtht and dress by yellow candlelight in summer, quite the other way, i have to go to bed by day. i have to go to bed and see the birds still hopping on the tree, or hear the grown - up people`s feet still going pastme in the street. and does it not seem heard to you, when all the sky is clear and blue, and i should like so much to play, to have to bed by day?