Heinrich Heine Poems

Our death is in the cool of night,
Our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
Day’s tired me with light.
...

Every day so lovely, shining,
Up and down, the Sultan’s daughter
Walked at evening by the water,
Where the white fountain splashes.
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There was a king, now ageing,
With heart of lead, and head so grey.
He took a wife, the old king,
A young wife too, men say.
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I saw a crowd of flowers in bloom,
On my way: too lazy of course
To stir myself and pick them too,
I rode on by, on my proud horse.
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Not a Mass will be sung then,
Not a Kaddish will be said,
Nothing sung, and nothing spoken,
On the day when I am dead.
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They loved each other with love so deep,
She was a tramp and he was a thief.
When he was plying his naughty craft,
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The years they come and go,
The races drop in the grave,
Yet never the love doth so
Which here in my heart I have.
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My golden-haired beauty,
I’m always sure of seeing,
In the Tuileries Gardens,
Under the chestnut trees.
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Outside, white snowflakes are blowing
Through the night: the storm is loud:
Here I’m alone, beside the blazing
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I had a lovely homeland long ago.
The oak trees seemed
So tall there, and the violets blew so sweet.
It was a dream.
...