Heinrich Heine (1797–1856)

Translated by Emma Lazarus

IN the dreamy wood I wander,

In the wood at eventide;

And thy slender graceful figure

Wanders ever by my side.

Is not this thy white veil floating,

Is not that thy gentle face?

Is it but the moonlight breaking

Through the dark fir branches’ space?

Can these tears so softly flowing

Be my very own I hear?

Or indeed, art thou beside me,

Weeping, darling, close anear?