HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

And in her anguish fain would call to him, "Come!
Come! our children are pining for thee!"
But the scornful sun-god,
At the mere sight of his spouse.
Glows in doubly-dyed purple.
With wrath and grief.
And implacably he hastens downward
To the cold waves of his widowed couch.
Thus did evil-whispering tongues
Bring grief and ruin
Even upon the immortal gods.
And the poor gods in heaven above
Painfully wander
Disconsolate on their eternal path,
And cannot die;
And drag with them
The chain of their glittering misery.
But I, the son of man.
The lowly-born, the death-crowned one,
I murmur no more.
226