The Classical Scholar

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 Playfully, 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.