HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

I^etne.
brown; I love even the over-ripe bust
with its purple points, as if amorous
birds had been pecking at it; but above
all, I love the gracious bearing, that
dumb music of the body, those limbs
that move in sweetest rhythm, voluptuous,
pliant, with divine enticement,
with indolent death-languor, and yet
with ethereal grandeur, and always full
of poetry. I love such forms, as I. love
poetry itself; and these melodiously
moving figures, this marvellous human
concert whose rhythmic waves flowed
round me, found an echo in my heart,
and awoke in it responsive accords.
THE POET'S WIFE.
When once you are my wife, I swear
You shall be envied far and near;
For you shall pass your life-away
In merriment and pleasure gay.
Scold as you will —the storms you
raise,
I'll bear them all — but mind you praise
My verses, for unless you do,
I'll straightway be divorced from you.