I creep about
Wilhelm Freudenberg
I creep about,
sad and mute.
You ask, o ask
me not, why?
My heart shakes
with so much pain!
Could I ever be
too gloomy?
The tree withers and dies,
the breeze fades away,
The leaves lie
so yellow in the yard,
A shower storms
with might toward us;
Could I ever be
too gloomy?