HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

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89 Death is like the balmy night. Life is like the sultry day; It is dark, and I am sleepy. I am weary of the light. O'er my couch a tree doth spring In its boughs a nightingale Sings of love, of naught but love. In my dream I hear him sing. i8o

90 "Tell me where's your lovely maiden. Whom you sang of erst so well, As a flame that through your bosom Pierced with rare, enchanted spell." Ah, that flame is long extinguished! And my heart is cold above. And this little book the urn is For the ashes of my love. i8i

90<br />

"Tell me where's your lovely maiden.<br />

Whom you sang of erst so well,<br />

As a flame that through your bosom<br />

Pierced with rare, enchanted spell."<br />

Ah, that flame is long extinguished!<br />

And my heart is cold above.<br />

And this little book the urn is<br />

For the ashes of my love.<br />

i8i

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