The Wanderer's Address To The Moon Poem by Johann Gabriel Seidl

I on earth, you in heaven,
both of us moving sturdily on.
I sad and cheerless, you gentle and clear,
what can the difference really be?
I go as a stranger from one land to another,
so homeless and unknown;
uphill, downhill, in and out of forests,
but, ah, nowhere is my home.
But you travel up and down,
from your eastern cradle, to western grave,
sail in and out of every land,
and yet you are home wherever you are.
The heavens, endlessly outstretched,
are your beloved native land.
Happy is he, who wherever he goes,
stands on his native soil.