Our death is in the cool of night,our life is in the pool of day.The darkness glows, I’m drowning,the day has tired me with light.
Over my head in leaves grown deep,sings the young nightingale.It only sings of love there,I hear it in my sleep.Heinrich Heine (13.12. 1797 - 17.02. 1856)
Echoing your wish, Sean.:)I was quite young when, as a pianist, I met Heine, associated with Schumann, in beautiful lieders sang by young students in my music school. I thought he was very romantic. I discovered his ironic sadness much later on. A great poet, very enlightened about our humanity, his country and the world.
Absolutely.. Vivat Heine!
Claudia, Jams,belated thanks; also in the name of the dead deathless poet.