To me is barr'd the door of joy and ease;
There stand I as an orphan, lone, forlorn,
And nothing boots me that I frequent knock.
Strange that on every hand the shower should fall,
And not one cheering drop should reach to me!
On all around the gen'rous Austrian's gifts,
Gladdening the land, like genial rain descend:
A fair and gay adorned mead is he
Whereon are gather'd oft the sweetest flowers:
Would that his rich and ever gen'rous hand
Might stoop to pluck one little leaf for me,
So might I fitly praise a scene so fair!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem