FOUR TRANSLATIONS
II
(Keller)
I was a master-weaver To weave my grief and care, And day and night I fashioned A heavy robe to wear. I trailed it on the highway Dust-grey, with weary pride, I set upon my forehead A wreath of thorns beside. The sun on high in Heaven Looked down and loud laughed he: "What little dwarf goes yonder In robes of majesty?"
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