HEINRICH HEINE - Repositories

The night is wet and stormy.
And void of stars the sky;
'Neath the rustling trees of the forest
I wander silently.
There flickers a lonely candle
In the huntsman's lodge to-night.
It shall not tempt me thither;
It burns with a sullen light.
There sits the blind old granny.
In the leathern arm-chair tall.
Like a statue, stiff, uncanny
And speaketh not at all.
And to and fro strides, cursing.
The ranger's red haired son.
With angry, scornful laughter
Flings to the wall his gun.
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