I have a little boy, a fine little fellow is he! When I see him
it appears to me the whole world is mine.
Only rarely, rarely I see him, my pretty little son, when he is
awake; I find him always asleep, I see him only at night.
My work drives me out early and brings me home late; oh, my own
flesh is a stranger to me; oh, strange to me the glances of my
child!
I come home in anguish and shrouded in darkness—my pale wife
tells how nicely the child plays.
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