Poem Hunter
(28 August 1749 – 22 March 1832 / Frankfurt am Main)


Poem By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

'TIS easier far a wreath to bind,
Than a good owner fort to find.
I KILL'D a thousand flies overnight,
Yet was waken'd by one, as soon as twas light.
To the mother I give;
For the daughter I live.
A BREACH is every day,
By many a mortal storm'd;
Let them fall in the gaps as they may,
Yet a heap of dead is ne'er form'd.
WHAT harm has thy poor mirror done, alas?
Look not so ugly, prythee, in the glass!

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