Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916.
By On the Death of My ChildJoseph Freiherr von Eichendorff (17881857)
F
Deep midnight spreads its shade;
The lamp is burning dimly—
Your little bed is made.
Around the house and moan,
And by the window harking
We sit inside, alone.
Must knock upon the door:
You’d lost your way, and weary
Had wandered home once more!
We are the ones who roam,
Lost in the dreadful darkness—
You long have found your home.