HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

5 The Song of the Oceanides
'Tis nightfall and paler grows the sea.
And alone with his lonely soul.
There sits a man on the cold strand
And turns his death-cold glances
Towards the vast, death-cold vault of heaven.
And toward the vast, billowy sea.
On airy sails float forth his sighs;
And melancholy they return.
And find the heart close-locked.
Wherein they fain would anchor.
And he groans so loud that the white sea-mews.
Startled out of their sandy nests.
Flutter circling around him.
And he laughingly speaks to them thus:
"Ye black-legged birds,
With white wings, oversea flutterers!
With crooked beaks, salt-water bibbers.
Ye oily seal-flesh devourers!
Your life is as bitter as your food.
I, however, the fortunate, taste naught but sweets!
I taste the fragrance of the rose.
The moonshine-nourished bride of the nighdngale.
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