He was my foe, and friend he was to none.
And then, last night, I saw him in a dream
Who wandered o'er a waste of barren moor
Alone, and there a beggar's bowl he rattled,
And came to me and spoke, while the bowl rattled —
"A homeless waif and stray, a poor dead man
Who now can do no harm to any man,
Was looking for you, that old debt to pay —
Drop a kind thought, Sir, in my bowl, I pray."
Carl Spitteler (1845 - 1924) Switzerland
Translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne
Source: Ross' Columns (taken from Selected Poems translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne and James F. Muirhead)
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