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Journal d'un nomade

Journal d'un nomade

Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast bulk of the population of the red brick district of the lower West Side. Homeless, they have a hundred homes. They flit from furnished room to furnished room, transients forever - transients in abode, transients in heart and mind. They sing "Home, Sweet Home" in ragtime; they carry their lares et penates in a bandbox; their vine is entwined about a picture hat; a rubber plant is their fig tree. (O. Henry)

Poem by Goethe

Stroll in the wood

Once I was in the mood

For a stroll in the wood

It was an aimless walk

To none I wanted to talk

I saw a flower under a tree

Gently stroked by a tiny bee

She was twinkling like a star

Untouched by humans so far

Attracted by the flower’s charm

Towards her I stretched my arm

She said like a behaved maid:

Do you really want me do fade?

I pulled her out with roots and earth

I intended to give her a new birth

Now she flourishes in a beautiful pot

Daily watered, be the weather cold or hot

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

(Freely translated from German into English by O. K.)

Original Poem:

Ich ging im Walde so vor mich hin

Ich ging im Walde

So vor mich hin,

Und nichts zu suchen,

Das war mein Sinn.

Im Schatten sah ich

Ein Blümlein stehn,

Wie Sterne blinkend,

Wie Äuglein schön.

Ich wollt es brechen,

Da sagt’ es fein:

Soll ich zum Welken

Gebrochen sein?

Mit allen Wurzeln

Hob ich es aus,

Und trugs zum Garten

Am hübschen Haus.

Ich pflanzt es wieder

Am kühlen Ort;

Nun zweigt und blüht es

Mir immer fort.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

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