Song of Songs

By Heinrich Heine

A woman's body is a poem,
Composed by God, and proven
In Nature's mighty registry,
Because the spirit moved Him.

Propitious was the hour for Him,
And God was quite delighted;
Such brittle and rebellious stuff
Artistically united.

A woman's body is indeed
The Song of Songs in splendor;
The lovely, wondrous strophes are
Her limbs, so white and slender.

O what a heavenly idea
Must this bare neck be, surely,
Upon which sways the little head,
The keystone, pert and curly!

The rosebuds of her breasts, they are
Inscribéd epigrammatic;
Unspeakably charming, the ceasura
That parts them, so dramatic.

And the creator makes the hips
In parallel formation;
With fig-leaf, the parenthesis
Is also a nice location.

It's no abstract conceptual poem!
The song has flesh, combining
Both hand and foot; to laugh, to kiss
With lovely lips a-rhyming.

Here breathes the truest poesy!
Grace in animation!
And on its forehead bears the song
The stamp of consummation.

I want to sing Thy praise, O Lord,
And praise with glory leaven!
We're only bunglers next to Thee,
The mighty bard of Heaven.

I want to sink myself, O Lord,
Into Thy poém's glory;
I'll study it, both day and night,
To make my offertory.

I'll study it all night and day,
No time to lose. My body
And legs are grown so skinny now -
That comes from lots of study.

 Posted by permission of the translator ~ © 2005

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