HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

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^o f$m,t. THE FAIR SEX. Women have unfortunately only one way of making us happy, while they have thirty thousand different modes of rendering us miserable Nothing wounds a man so keenly as a woman's little pin-pricks. We are prepared for slashing swordstrokes, and are tickled in the most ticklish parts. Oh the women! We must needs forgive them much for they love much, and also many ! Their hatred is really a species of love that has become apostate. They often try to do us an injury, because in doing so they think to please some other man. ROBESPIERRE. Maximilian Robespierre, the great citizen of the Rue Saint Honoie, had, it is true, his sudden attacks of destructiveness when it was a question of the monarchy, and his frame was violently convulsed when the fit of regicidal epilepsy was on; but as soon as it came to be a question about the Supreme Being, he wiped the white froth from his lips, washed the blood from his hands, donned his blue Sunday coat with shining metal buttons, and stuck a nosegay in the bosom of his broad vest.

a^dnt. 71 A RESURRECTION DREAM. Night lay upon my eyelids ; Upon my mouth lay lead; With rigid brain and bosom, I lay among the dead. How long it was I know not That sleep thus rest me gave; I wakened up, and heard then A knocking at my grave. " Wilt thou not rise up, Henry ? The eternal day comes on. The dead are all arisen, The endless joys begun." "My love, I cannot raise me. For I have lost iny sight; My eyes with bitter weeping, They are extinguished quite." "From thy dear eyelids, Henry, I'll kiss the night away; Thou shalt behold the angels. And also Heaven's display." " My love, I cannot raise me ; Still out the blood is poured. Where thou heart-deep didst stab me With a keen-pointed word." " I will my hand lay, Henry, Soft, soft upon thy heart; And that will stop its bleeding — And soothe at once the smart."

^o<br />

f$m,t.<br />

THE FAIR<br />

SEX.<br />

Women have unfortunately only one<br />

way of making us happy, while they<br />

have thirty thousand different modes of<br />

rendering us miserable<br />

Nothing wounds a man so keenly as a<br />

woman's little pin-pricks. We are prepared<br />

for slashing swordstrokes, and are<br />

tickled in the most ticklish parts. Oh<br />

the women! We must needs forgive<br />

them much for they love much, and also<br />

many ! Their hatred is really a species<br />

of love that has become apostate. They<br />

often try to do us an injury, because in<br />

doing so they think to please some<br />

other man.<br />

ROBESPIERRE.<br />

Maximilian Robespierre, the great<br />

citizen of the Rue Saint Honoie, had, it<br />

is true, his sudden attacks of destructiveness<br />

when it was a question of the<br />

monarchy, and his frame was violently<br />

convulsed when the fit of regicidal<br />

epilepsy was on; but as soon as it came<br />

to be a question about the Supreme Being,<br />

he wiped the white froth from his<br />

lips, washed the blood from his hands,<br />

donned his blue Sunday coat with shining<br />

metal buttons, and stuck a nosegay<br />

in the bosom of his broad vest.

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