HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

Where his feet fall
Sparks are scattered and shells are cracked.
And he wraps himself closer in his gray mande.
And walks rapidly through the windy night,
Surely guided by a little light.
That kindly and invitingly beams
From the lonely fisherman's hut.
Father and brother are on the sea.
And quite alone in the hut
Bides the fisher's daughter.
The fisher's rarely-beautiful daughter.
She sits on the hearth,
And listens to the cosy auspicious hum
Of the boiling kettle,
And lays crackling fagots upon the fire.
And blows thereon,
Till the flickering red flames
With a magic charm are reflected
On her blooming face.
On her delicate white shoulders
Which so pathetically outpeep
From the coarse gray smock,
And on her little tidy hand
Which gathers more closely the petticoat
About her dainty loins.
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