HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

All hail to thee, thou Eternal Sea!
Like the language of home, thy water whispers to n
Like the dreams of my childhood I see it glimmer
Over thy billowy realm of waves.
And it repeats to me anew olden memories.
Of all the beloved glorious sports.
Of all the twinkling Christmas gifts,
Of all the ruddy coral-trees,
Tiny golden fishes, pearls and bright-hued mussels.
Which thou dost secretly preserve
Below there in thy limpid house of crystal.
Oh, how I have pined in barren exile!
Like a withered flower
In the tin box of a botanist.
My heart lay in my breast.
I feel as if all winter I had sat,
A sick man, in a dark, sick room.
Which now I suddenly leave.
And dazzlingly shines down upon me
The emerald spring, the sunshine-awakened spring.
And the white-blossomed trees are rustling;
And the young flowers look at me.
With their many-colored, fragrant eyes.
And there is an aroma, and a murmuring, and a breai
ing and a laughter.
And in the blue sky the little birds are singing,
Thalatta! Thalatta!
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