Heinrich Heine (1797–1856)

Translated by Matilda Dickson

A HAUNTING tale that will not be denied

Besets me,—in that tale a tender lay,

Amid whose music, blooming like the may

A wondrous lovely little maid doth glide;

Within the maid a small heart doth abide,

But in that heart no sparks of love can glow;

Within that loveless nature cold as snow,

Dwell only arrogance and frozen pride.

—Hear’st thou how rings that story thro’ my brain,

And how that song its sad refrain is blending,

And how the maiden titters, soft and low?

I only fear my heart will burst in twain;

And oh! that were, methinks, a fearful ending

Should I go mad with all this weight of woe.