HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories
HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories
I^eine, thoughts, with which the spirit of the Emperor strode invisibly through the world, thoughts, a single one of which would, I believe, have furnished a German author with materials for writing during all his life-time. HEINE'S JEWISH BLOOD. The sense of pleasure in the noble, the beautiful, and the good, may often be imparted through education, but the sense of pleasure in hunting lies in the blood. When one's ancestors have been hunters of the buck from time immemorial, their descendants find a delight in this lawful occupation. My ancestors, however, belonged not to the race of hunters, but much rather to that of the hunted, and I feel my blood revolt at the thought of taking deadly aim at the descendants of their former colleagues in misfortune. ITALIAN BEAUTY. I love those pale elegiac countenances, from which great black eyes shed forth their love-pain; I love, too, the dark tint of those proud necks — their first love was Phoebus, who kissed them
I^etne. brown; I love even the over-ripe bust with its purple points, as if amorous birds had been pecking at it; but above all, I love the gracious bearing, that dumb music of the body, those limbs that move in sweetest rhythm, voluptuous, pliant, with divine enticement, with indolent death-languor, and yet with ethereal grandeur, and always full of poetry. I love such forms, as I. love poetry itself; and these melodiously moving figures, this marvellous human concert whose rhythmic waves flowed round me, found an echo in my heart, and awoke in it responsive accords. THE POET'S WIFE. When once you are my wife, I swear You shall be envied far and near; For you shall pass your life-away In merriment and pleasure gay. Scold as you will —the storms you raise, I'll bear them all — but mind you praise My verses, for unless you do, I'll straightway be divorced from you.
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- Page 349: WIT, WISDOM, POETRY.
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I^etne.<br />
brown; I love even the over-ripe bust<br />
with its purple points, as if amorous<br />
birds had been pecking at it; but above<br />
all, I love the gracious bearing, that<br />
dumb music of the body, those limbs<br />
that move in sweetest rhythm, voluptuous,<br />
pliant, with divine enticement,<br />
with indolent death-languor, and yet<br />
with ethereal grandeur, and always full<br />
of poetry. I love such forms, as I. love<br />
poetry itself; and these melodiously<br />
moving figures, this marvellous human<br />
concert whose rhythmic waves flowed<br />
round me, found an echo in my heart,<br />
and awoke in it responsive accords.<br />
THE POET'S WIFE.<br />
When once you are my wife, I swear<br />
You shall be envied far and near;<br />
For you shall pass your life-away<br />
In merriment and pleasure gay.<br />
Scold as you will —the storms you<br />
raise,<br />
I'll bear them all — but mind you praise<br />
My verses, for unless you do,<br />
I'll straightway be divorced from you.
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