That beast so nearly brought me to despair
That I cried out--and wakened from my slumber.

* * * * *




THE JOURNEY TO THE HARZ[49] (1824)

BY HEINRICH HEINE

TRANSLATED BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND

"Nothing is permanent but change, nothing constant but death. Every
pulsation of the heart inflicts a wound, and life would be an endless
bleeding were it not for Poetry. She secures to us what Nature would
deny--a golden age without rust, a spring which never fades, cloudless
prosperity and eternal youth."--BÖRNE.

Black dress coats and silken stockings,
Snowy ruffles frilled with art,
Gentle speeches and embraces--
Oh, if they but held a heart!

Held a heart within their bosom,
Warmed by love which truly glows;
Ah! I'm wearied with their chanting
Of imagined lovers' woes!