| Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916. | | | | On the Death of My Child | | By Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788–1857) |
| | | FROM far the clocks are ticking, | |
| Deep midnight spreads its shade; | |
| The lamp is burning dimly— | |
| Your little bed is made. | |
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| Only the winds are wandering | 5 |
| Around the house and moan, | |
| And by the window harking | |
| We sit inside, alone. | |
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| It seems as if you gently | |
| Must knock upon the door: | 10 |
| You’d lost your way, and weary | |
| Had wandered home once more! | |
| |
| How pitiful our folly! | |
| We are the ones who roam, | |
| Lost in the dreadful darkness— | 15 |
| You long have found your home. | | | | |
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