Heine Song Cycle

For many thousand ages
The steadfast stars above
Have gazed upon each other
With ever mournful love.

They speak a certain language,
So beautiful, so grand,
Which none of the philologians
Could ever understand.

But I have learned it, learned it
For ever, by the grace
Of studying the grammar --
My heart's own darling's face.

The earth is so fair and the heavens so blue,
And the breeze is breathing so warmly too;
And the flowers of the meadows are gleaming through
The sparkling and glittering morning dew;
And the people are joyous wherever I view.
Yet were I in my grave at rest
And folded close to my lost love's breast.

The Lotus-flower doth languish
  Beneath the sun's warm light;
With drooping head she waiteth
  All dreamily for night.

The Moon is her true lover,
  He wakes her with his glance:
To him she unveils gladly
  Her gentle countenance.

She blooms and glows and brightens,
  Intent on him above,
Exhaling, weeping, trembling,
  With ever-yearning love.

The pine-tree standeth lonely
In the North on an upland bare;
It standeth whitely shrouded
With snow, and sleepeth there.
 
It dreameth of a palm-tree
Which far in the East alone,
In mournful silence standeth
On its ridge of burning stone.

The violets blue of the eyes divine,
And the rose of the cheeks as red as wine,
 ...  the lilies white of the hands so fine,
They flourish and flourish from year to year,
 ...  only the heart is withered and sere.

"Say, where is the maiden sweet
 Whom you once so sweetly sung,
When the flames of mighty heat
 Filled your heart and fired your tongue?"

Ah, those flames no longer burn,
 Cold and drear is the heart that fed;
And this brook is but the urn
 Of the ashes of love dead.

My darling, we sat together,
We two in our frail boat.
The night was calm o'er the wide sea
Whereon we were afloat.

The spectre island, the lovely,
Lay dim in the moon's wild glance;
There sounded sweetest music,
There waved the shadowy dance.

It sounded sweeter and sweeter,
It waved there to and fro;
But we slid past forlornly
Upon the great sea-flow.

I gazed upon her picture,
Absorbed in dreams of gloom,
Till those beloved features
Began to breathe and bloom.

About her lips came wreathing
That sweet, sweet smile I knew;
The eyes were softly gleaming
With tears as fresh as dew.

And my tears sprang there also,
The dark clouds' rain was shed;
And, O my love I cannot
Believe that thou art dead.

In the Rhine, in the beautiful River,
The mighty shadow is thrown,
With its great Cathedral,
Of holy and great Cologne.

One picture in the Cathedral,
On gilded leather wrought,
Unto my life's wild sorrow
Hath gracious comfort wrought:

The dear Madonna, with floating
Angels and flowers above;
The eyes and the lips and the contour
Are all just those of my love.