I do not find him,
I mean the classical scholar
Sober, disciplined, quiet and impractical,
Pragmatic and conventional,
But liberal and humanistic.
Where, where that scholar holding his sway over,
Where, where that fellow crossing the river
And going to his hamlet-home
With the little and lovely daughter of his
Who together with him
Holding the hand of the old fellow?
The little daughter picking the pathway flowers
From the weeds and the bushes
And the classical scholar telling
Of life, the world and the go of it,
Alluding to the scriptures
Which the small daughter questioning time and again
In the girlish curiosity of her own.
The classical scholar going as an unknown citizen,
A shepherd scholar,
A scholar gipsy
And the little daughter too going together with him
The things of life are almost the same,
Only the heart needs to be changed,
God's scholarship is not in hypocrisy an ego
As we think it today.
One who can feel the little heart and her innocence,
Her fancy and playfulness,
One can love it all,
The hills, woods, fields, fallows, flowers, weeds and bushes
Is in reality a scholar,
Feel the mystery and fragrance of life and the world therefore Calling yourself a scholar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.