Heinrich Heine Poems
Death And His Brother Sleep (‘morphine’)
There’s a mirror likeness between those two
shining, youthfully-fledged figures, though
one seems paler than the other and more austere,
I might even say more perfect, more distinguished,
than he, who would take me confidingly in his arms –
how soft then and loving his smile, how blessed his glance!
Then, it might well have been that his wreath
of white poppies gently touched my forehead, at times,
and drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent.
But that is transient. I can only, now, be well,
when the other one, so serious and pale,
the older brother,...
Als Ich, Auf Der Reise
Just by chance on my journey
I met my beloved’s kin,
Sister and father and mother
Knew me, and welcomed me in.
They asked me how I was faring,
And said, as I entered the place,
That I wasn’t changed a bit, just
A little thin in the face.
I asked after aunts and cousins,