Die ersten Weimarer Jahre -- Anakreons Grab -- Anacreon's Grave

    Anacreon’s Grave

Where the roses bloom, where the vines tangle with the laurel,

where the turtle-doves call and the evening crickets sing:

  What a grave this is, that all the gods with life

  would spread beauty over grace.  Anacreon’s resting place.

  Spring, summer, autumn blessed that lucky poet.

  Now, at last, an earthen mound shields him from winter.