O Death, that is the Cooling Night

By Heinrich Heine

O Death, that is the cooling night,
And Life, that is the sultry day.
It's darkening, I'm sleepy,
The day, it has made me tired.

Over my bed arises a tree,
Where sings the youthful nightingale;
She sings of love so boldly,
I dream, yet it reaches me.

 Posted by permission of the translator ~ © 2002

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