Death And His Brother Sleep (‘morphine’) Poem by Heinrich Heine

Death And His Brother Sleep (‘morphine’)

Rating: 3.7


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, lowers his dark torch. –
Sleep is so good, Death is better, yet
surely never to have been born is best.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Joseph 14 December 2020

How to take care of my computer

0 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 22 February 2017

This poem appears to be the result of a tug of war between the depression and instinct of survival going on in the sub conscience of the poet due to reasons/ circumstances best known to him.

2 0 Reply
Terry Craddock 13 December 2016

'There’s a mirror likeness between those two shining, youthfully-fledged figures, though one seems paler than the other and more austere, ' loved this comparison between death and sleep and the sentiment of 'Sleep is so good, Death is better, yet surely never to have been born is best.' which seems to echo the bitter curd of a life distasteful.

21 0 Reply
Savita Tyagi 13 December 2016

A gift to read this poem on a sleepless night.

13 0 Reply
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