Your children are no more than 'leaves'. 'Leaves' too these loud voices of loyal praise, these curses from your opponents, this silent blame or mockery: mere 'leaves' likewise those with custody of your future fame. All these 'come round in the season of spring': but then the wind blows them down, and the forest 'puts out others' in their stead. All things are short-lived - this is their common lot - but you pursue likes and dislikes as if all eyes and soon there will be others mourning the man who buries you.
Meissen ?
ReplyDelete