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Josef Matthias Hauer
The boatman turns homeward on the mute river
from distant islands, where he has been gathering his harvest;
gladly would I also turn toward home now;
but what have I gathered except sorrow?
You lovely banks that brought me up,
can you still love's grief? ah, can you give me,
when I come to you woods of my childhood,
can you give me that peace once again?