Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 1, by HEINRICH HEINE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GERMANY; A WINTER TALE: CAPUT 1, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the mournful month of november 'twas
Last Line: And the contact new vigour produces.
Subject(s): Freedom; Germany; Singing & Singers; Liberty; Germans; Songs


IN the mournful month of November 'twas,
The winter days had returned,
The wind from the trees the foliage tore,
When I tow'rds Germany journied.

And when at length to the frontier I came
I felt a mightier throbbing
Within my breast, tears fill'd my eyes,
And I wellnigh broke into sobbing.

And when I the German language heard,
Strange feelings each other succeeding,
I felt precisely as though my heart
Right pleasantly were bleeding.

A little maiden sang to the harp;
Real feeling her song was conveying,
Though false was her voice, and yet I felt
Deep moved at hearing her playing.

She sang of love, and she sang of love's woes,
Of sacrifices, and meeting
Again on high, in yon better world
Where vanish our sorrows so fleeting.

She sang of this earthly valley of tears,
Of joys which so soon have vanish'd,
Of yonder, where revels the glorified soul
In eternal bliss, grief being banish'd.

The song of renunciation she sang,
The heavenly eiapopeia,
Wherewith the people, the booby throng,
Are hush'd when they soothing require.

I know the tune, and I know the text,
I know the people who wrote it;
I know that in secret they drink but wine,
And in public a wickedness vote it.

A song, friends, that's new, and a better one, too,
Shall be now for your benefit given!
Our object is, that here on earth
We may mount to the realms of heaven.

On earth we fain would happy be,
Nor starve for the sake of the stronger;
The idle stomach shall gorge itself
With the fruit of hard labour no longer.

Bread grows on the earth for every one,
Enough, and e'en in redundance,
And roses and myrtles, beauty and joy,
And sugarplums too in abundance.

Yes, sugarplums for every one,
As soon as the plums are provided;
To angels and sparrows we're quite content
That heaven should be confided.

If after death our pinions should grow,
We'll pay you a visit auspicious
In regions above, and with you we'll eat
Sweet tarts and cakes delicious.

A song that's new, and a better one, too,
Resounds like fiddle and flute now;
The Miserere's at last at an end,
The funeral bells are mute now.

The maiden Europe has been betroth'd
To the handsome Genius Freedom;
They clasp and kiss each other with warmth,
As their newborn passions lead 'em.

The priestly blessing may absent be,
But the wedding is still a wedding;
So here's long life to the bridegroom and bride,
And the future fruit of their bedding!

An epithalamium is my song,
My latest and best creation;
Within my soul are shooting the stars
That proclaim its inauguration.

Those stars inspired blaze wildly on
In torrents of flame, and with wonder
I feel myself full of unearthly strength,
I could rend e'en oaks asunder!

Since I on Germany's ground have trod,
I'm pervaded by magical juices;
The giant has touch'd his mother once more,
And the contact new vigour produces.





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