Tuesday, March 24, 2015

THE LORELEI - by HEINRICH HEINE - Translated by A.Z. Foreman


Christian Johann Heinrich Heine - 1797 – 1856



  I know not whence it rises,
    This thought so full of woe:
  But a tale of the times departed
    Haunts me and will not go.

  The air is cool, and it darkens,

    And calmly flows the Rhine;

  The mountain peaks are sparkling

    In the sunny evening-shine.

  And yonder sits a maiden,

    The fairest of the fair;

  With gold is her garment glittering,

    And she combs her golden hair.

  With a golden comb she combs it,

    And a wild song singeth she,

  That melts the heart with a wondrous

    And powerful melody.

  The boatman feels his bosom

    With a nameless longing move;

  He sees not the gulfs before him,

    His gaze is fixed above.

  Till over boat and boatman

    The Rhine's deep waters run;

  And this with her magic singing

    The Lorelei hath done !


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