Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Translation copyright © 1995 by Walter Meyer
I'm looking in vain for the reason That I am so sad and distressed; A tale known for many a season Will not allow me to rest.
Cool is the air in the twilight
The fairest of maiden's reposing
She combs it with comb of gold
The boatman in his small craft
I fear that the waves shall be flinging |