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HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

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20 i^cine.<br />

Who twines in one wreath all their<br />

beauty and love.<br />

And rose is, and lily, and moon and<br />

dove.<br />

A TERRIBLE FATE.<br />

Like Romeo I can say : "0 1 am<br />

fortune's fool! " I stand before the great<br />

soup-pot, but I have no spoon. What<br />

boots it to me that at festivals of mirth<br />

my health is drunk from golden cups<br />

brimming with rarest wine, when I, a<br />

stranger to all earth's joys, can but<br />

moisten my lips with insipid tisane !<br />

What boots it though all the roses of<br />

Sharon so tenderly bloom and give forth<br />

sweetest fragrance for me! Alas!<br />

Sharon is two thousand leagues from<br />

the Rue d' Amsterdam, where, in the<br />

peevish solitude of my sick-room, the<br />

only perfume that greets my senses is<br />

the smell of heated napkins ! Ah ! but<br />

the mockery of God presses heavily upon<br />

me. The great Author of the Universe,<br />

the Aristophanes of Heaven,<br />

seeks to prove with awful severity to<br />

me, the little earthly so-called German<br />

Aristophanes, how my wittiest sarcasms<br />

are but miserable jests compared with<br />

his, and how pitifully my humor falls<br />

short of his colossal irony.

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