Heinrich Heine
Under russian translation by Samuil Marshak
They all coloured dark all my days:
With their grudge or with grief:
One - with their love, then
Others - with their enmity.
They added in bread and in wine goblet
A poison, while every my dinner -
One - with their love, then
Others - with their enmity.
But she, who was racking me hardly
Till last days of all poor life,
Was not burned with enmity, either
She had not a grain of some love.
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Look in russian:
http: //www.stihi.ru/2012/07/08/1563
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem