Klage
Plaint
Hölty
Your silver sheen,
Through oak leaves green,
O moon, smiled down on me,
With peace and joy,
A happy boy.
Now, when your light
Comes into sight,
It brings no joy
To this young boy.
My cheek’s so pale
And teardrops trail.
Dear friend, quite soon
The silver moon
Will light the grave
Where ashes lie,
Where this boy’s ashes lie.
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