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The poems of Heine; Complete. Heinrich HeineЧитать онлайн книгу.

The poems of Heine; Complete - Heinrich Heine


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       Table of Contents

      There once lived a knight, who was mournful and bent,

       His cheeks white as snow were, and hollow;

       He totter’d and stagger’d wherever he went,

       A vain vision attempting to follow.

       He seem’d so clumsy and awkward and gauche,

       That the flowers and girls, when they saw him approach,

       Their merriment scarcely could swallow.

      From his room’s darkest corner he often ne’er stirr’d,

       Esteeming the sight of men shocking,

       And extended his arms, without speaking a word,

       As though some vain phantom were mocking.

       But scarce had the hour of midnight drawn near,

       When a wonderful singing and noise met his ear,

       And he heard at the door a strange knocking.

      His mistress then secretly enters the room,

       In a dress made of foam of the ocean;

       She glows like a rosebud, so sweet is her bloom,

       Her jewell’d veil’s ever in motion;

       Her golden locks play round her form slim and tall,

       Their eyes meet with rapture, and straightway they fall

       In each other’s arms with devotion.

      In his loving embraces the knight holds her fast,

       The dullard with passion is glowing;

       He reddens, the dreamer awakens at last,

       And bolder and bolder he’s growing.

       But she grows more saucy and mocking instead,

       And gently and softly she covers his head,

       Her white jewell’d veil o’er him throwing.

      To a watery palace of crystal bright

       The knight on a sudden is taken;

       His eyes are dazzled by radiant light,

       By his wits he is well-nigh forsaken.

       But the nymph holds him closely embraced by her side

       The knight is the bridegroom, the nymph is the bride

      So sweetly they play and so sweetly they sing,

       In the dance they are moving so lightly,

       That the knight before long finds his senses take wing,

       He embraces his sweet one more tightly—

       When all of a sudden the lights disappear,

       And the knight’s once more sitting in solitude drear

       In his poet’s low garret unsightly.

      1.

      ’Twas in the beauteous month of May,

       When all the flowers were springing,

       That first within my bosom

       I heard love’s echo ringing.

      ’Twas in the beauteous month of May,

       When all the birds were singing,

       That first I to my sweetheart

       My vows of love was bringing.

      2.

      From out of my tears all burning

       Many blooming flowerets break,

       And all my sighs combining

       A chorus of nightingales make.

      And if thou dost love me, my darling,

       To thee shall the flowerets belong;

       Before thy window shall echo

       The nightingale’s tuneful song.

      3.

      The rose and the lily, the dove and the sun,

       I loved them all dearly once, every one;

       I love them no longer, I love now alone

       The small one, the neat one, the pure one, mine own.

       Yes, she herself, the fount of all love,

       Is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.

      4.

      When gazing on thy beauteous eyes

       All thought of sorrow straightway flies;

       But when I kiss thy mouth so sweet,

       My cure is perfect and complete.

      When leaning on thy darling breast,

       I feel with heavenly rapture blest;

       But when thou sayest: “I love thee!”

       I begin weeping bitterly.

      5.

      Thy face, so lovely and serene,

       In vision I have lately seen;

       So like an angel’s ’tis, and meek,

       Though bitter grief has blanch’d thy cheek.

      Thy lips alone, they still are red;

       Death soon will kiss them pale and dead;

       The heavenly light will soon be o’er

       That from thine eyes is wont to pour.

      6.

      O lean thy beauteous cheek on mine,

       That our tears together may mingle!

       Against my bosom press thou thine,

       That their flames may no longer be single

      And when with the flame is mingled at last

       The stream of our tears all burning,

       And mine arm is lovingly round thee cast—

       I’ll die of my love’s sweet yearning.

      7.

      I’ll dip my spirit discreetly

       In the cup of the lily down here;

       The lily shall sing to me sweetly

       A song of my mistress dear.

      The song shall tremble and quiver,

       Like that delicious kiss,

       Of which her mouth was the giver

       In a wondrous moment of bliss.

      8.

      The stars in yonder heavens

       Immovably have stood

       For thousands of years, regarding

       Each other in sad loving mood.

      They speak a mysterious language

       That’s rich and sweet to the ear;

       Yet no philologist living

       Can make its meaning clear.

      But I’ve learnt it, and ne’er will forget it,

      


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