Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine Part 19

When thou tell'st me how thy feelings Always have been truest, highest, To the pride within thy bosom Thou no sacrifice denyest.

Not for millions, thou averrest, Man could thy pure honor buy, Ere thou sell thyself for money Ah, thou wouldst far liefer die.

I before thee stand and listen; To the end I listen stoutly, Like a type of faith in silence, And I fold my hands devoutly.

VI.

I closed my sweetheart's either eye, And on her mouth I kissed, Now asking me the reason why She never gives me rest.

From set of sun till morning rise, Each hour does she persist, 'Oh wherefore did you close mine eyes, When on my mouth you kissed?"

I never yet have told her why, Myself I scarcely wist.

I closed my sweetheart's either eye, And on her mouth I kissed.

VII.

When I, enraptured by precious kisses, Rest in thine arms for briefest season, Of Germany thou must not ask me, I cannot bear it--there is a reason!

Leave Germany in peace, I do beseech thee, Vex not with endless questions my poor spirit Concerning home, friends, social, kind relations, There is a reason why I cannot bear it.

The oak-tree there is green, the German women Have soft blue eyes--tender they are and fair.

They whisper sighs of hope and truth and pa.s.sion.

I have good cause--'tis more than I can bear.

VIII.

Whilst I, after other people's, Others people's darlings gaze, And before strange sweethearts' dwellings Sighing pace through weary days.--

Then perhaps those other people In another quarter pine, Pacing by my very windows, Coveting that girl of mine.

That were human! G.o.d in heaven, Watch us still whate'er befall!

G.o.d in heaven, joy and blessing, Joy and blessing send us all!

IX.

Dismiss me not, e'en if my thirst Quenched with that sweet draught be!

Bear with me for a season yet, That shall suffice for me.

Canst thou no longer be my love, Then be to me a friend; For friends.h.i.+p only just begins When love is at an end.

X.

This mad carnival of loving, This our heart's intoxication Ends at last, and we twain, sobered, Yawningly look each on each.

All the luscious cup is drained That was filled with sensuous juices, Foaming to the brim, enticing, All the luscious cup is drained.

And the violins are silent, That so sweetly played for dancing, For the giddy dance of pa.s.sion-- Yes, the violins are silent.

And the lanterns are extinguished, That with gorgeous light illumined All the motley troop of maskers-- Yes, the lanterns are extinguished.

And to-morrow comes Ash-Wednesday, I will draw upon thy forehead Then an ashen cross, and murmur, Woman, thou art dust--remember!

SPRING FESTIVAL.

This is the spring-tide's mournful feast, The frantic troops of blooming girls Are rus.h.i.+ng hither with flying curls, Moaning they smite their bare white breast, Adonis! Adonis!

The night has come. By the torches' gleams They search the forest on every side, That echoes with anguish far and wide, With tears, mad laughter, and sobs and screams, Adonis! Adonis!

The mortal youth so strangely fair, Lies on the cold turf pale and dead; His heart's blood staineth the flowers red, And a wild lament fulfills the air, Adonis! Adonis!

CHILDE HAROLD.

Lo, a large black-shrouded barge Sadly moves with sails outspread, And mute creatures' m.u.f.fled features Hold grim watch above the dead.

Calm below it lies the poet With his fair face bare and white, Still with yearning ever turning Azure eyes towards heaven's light.

As he saileth sadly waileth Some bereaven undine-bride.

O'er the springing waves outringing, Hark! a dirge floats far and wide.

THE ASRA.

Daily the fair Sultan's daughter Wanders to and fro at twilight By the margin of the fountain, Where the waters white are rippling.

Daily the young slave at twilight Stands beside the fountain's margin, Where the waters white are rippling, Daily grows he pale and paler.

There one evening moved the princess Toward the slave with words swift-spoken "Tell me, tell me what thy name is, Where thy home is, what thy lineage?"

Spake the youthful slave: "My name is Mahomet, I come from Yemen; And by birth I am an Asra, One who dieth when he loves."