Still is the night, it quiets the streets down, In that window my love would appear; She's long since gone away from this town, But this house where she lived still remains here. A man stands here too, staring up into space, And wrings his hands with the strength of his pain: It chills me, when I behold his pale face. For the moon shows me my own features again! You spirit double, you specter with my face. Why do you mock my love-pain so. That tortured me here, here in this place. So many nights, so long ago?
Heinrich HeineAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet, Critic
- Nationality: deutsch
- Born: December 13, 1797
- Died: February 17, 1856
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