Heinrich Heine

13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856 / Dusseldorf

The Tear

The latest light of evening
Upon the waters shone,
And still we sat in the lonely hut,
In silence and alone.

The sea-fog grew, the screaming mew
Rose on the water's swell,
And silently in her gentle eye
Gathered the tears and fell
.
I saw them stand on the lily hand,
Upon my knee I sank,
And, kneeling there, from her fingers fair
The precious dew I drank.

And sense and power, since that sad hour,
In longing waste away ;
Ah me ! I fear, in each witching tear
Some subtile poison lay.
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