HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

22
The quiet night broods over roof-tree and steeple;
Within this house dwelt my treasure rare.
'Tis long since I left the town and its people.
But the house stands still on the self-same square.
Here stands, too, a man; toward heaven he gazes.
And he wrings his hands with a wild despair.
I shudder with awe when his face he raises.
For the moonlight shows me mine own self there.
Oh, pale sad creature! my ghost, my double.
Why dost thou ape my passion and tears,
That haunted me here with such cruel trouble.
So many a night in the olden years?
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