The scholar

In the most pleasant weather

all the little birds sing,

but when the rain is slapping the leaves,

I sing alone and for myself.

For my eyes can discover nothing,

when lightning flashes so cruelly,

that could appall in its travel

a truly contented mind.

Free from Mammon will I walk

on the fields of knowledge,

thinking seriously and taking, time to time,

a mouth full of grapejuice.

When I grow weary of study,

when the moon steps softly out,

I'll go to make music

in front of my beloved's door.