206
Paraphrases on Heine.
II.
Thy heart is fickle as the wind,
And flutters here and there;
With sails of black my ship floats on,
O'er raging seas afar.
And flutters here and there;
With sails of black my ship floats on,
O'er raging seas afar.
LXXXVIII.
I.
EATH is but the chilly night
Life is but the sultry day,
Darkening even while I sleep,
Weary, weary with the day.
Life is but the sultry day,
Darkening even while I sleep,
Weary, weary with the day.
IL.
O'er my bed a tree arises,
Where oft sings the nightingale,—
Sings of love, of Love immortal,
In my dreams I hear her wail.
Where oft sings the nightingale,—
Sings of love, of Love immortal,
In my dreams I hear her wail.
XXXVI.
I.