Poetry Tuesday: Death Is The Tranquil Night

Heinrich Heine, 1797-1856

Death is the tranquil night.
Life is the sultry day.
It darkens; I will sleep now;
The light has made me weary.

Over my bed rises a tree
Wherein sings the young nightingale.
It sings of constant love.
Even in this dream I hear it.

;o)

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