No one talks more than a Poet;
Fain he’d have the people know it.
Praise or blame he ever loves;
None in prose confess an error,
Yet we do so, void of terror,
In the Muses’ silent groves.
What I err’d in, what corrected,
What I suffer’d, what effected,
To this wreath as flow’rs belong;
For the aged, and the youthful,
And the vicious, and the truthful,
All are fair when viewed in song.
Johan Wolfgang von Goethe (written age 51)
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Germany (1749-1832)
Bowring, Edgar Alfred (Translated by) (1988) The Poems of Goethe, Translated in the Original Metres On-line http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1287 21 TO THE KIND READER