Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 1252

When at their worst, that men would something be,

When they are naught, presumptuous seems to me.

Man's life is in the blood, and where, in sooth,

Pulses the blood so strongly as in youth?

That's living blood, which with fresh vigor rife,

The newer life createth out of life.

There all is movement, something there is done;

Falleth the weak, the able presses on!

While half the world we 'neath our sway have brought,

What have ye done? Slept, nodded, dream'd, and thought,

Plan after plan rejected;—nothing won.

Age is, in sooth, a fever cold,

With frost of whims and peevish need:

When more than thirty years are told,

As good as dead one is indeed:

You it were best, methinks, betimes to slay.