Classic Poem

Der bleiche, herbstliche Halbmond

The pale, autumnal half-moon
Breaks through the cloudy skies;
Quietly, by the churchyard
The lonely parsonage lies.

The mother reads in her Bible;
The son just stares and stares;
The elder daughter dozes;
The younger one declares:

" Oh Lord, how stupid the days are,
Endlessly dull and drear!
Only when there's a funeral
Is there anything doing here. "

" You're wrong, " says the mother still reading,
" They've only buried four;
That is, since they laid your father
There, by the churchyard door. "

" Well, " yawns the elder daughter,
" I'll starve no longer with you.
I'll go to the Count to-morrow;
He's rich, and he loves me too. "

The son then bursts out laughing,
" At the " Star" there are hunters three;
They're making gold and gladly
They'll teach the secret to me. "

The mother flings her Bible
At his head, half-crazed with grief,
" That's what you'll be, God help you,
A common gutter thief! "

Lo, there's a tap at the window;
They turn to a beckoning hand —
There, in his moldy cassock,
They see the dead father stand.