HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

I know not what spell is o'er me,
That I am so sad to-day;
An old myth floats before me—
I cannot chase it away.
The cool air darkens, and listen,
How softly flows the Rhine!
The mountain peaks still glisten
Where the evening sunbeams shine.
The fairest maid sits dreaming
In radiant beauty there.
Her gold and her jewels are gleaming.
She combeth her golden hair.
With a golden comb she is combing;
A wondrous song sings she.
The music quaint in the gloaming,
Hath a powerful melody.
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