Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, gethan?

Weep nevermore again!
The wind's wild footstep thrills the leaves with pain;
Then desert silence, then the scattered cries
Of frail-voiced children, then within thy heart
A sense of falling leaves through gray linked rain,
Of perished youth with grave prophetic eyes
And strange scant visions of a hopeless past;
A sense of life no older than thou art,
And in thy soul, of bright tears falling fast—
Hush! tired child, weep nevermore again.