Heinrich Heine: “I dreamt…”

Excerpt, “Borrowed Plumes: Translations from German Poets.” James D.B. Gribble. 1888..

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I dreamt that I was young and hale again,

It was the mansion in my native land;

I ran along the pathway to the vale,

Ran with Ottilia, racing hand in hand.

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How neatly formed, her tiny figure looks!

Those sweet green eyes have such a roguish play,

And on those little feet she stands so firm,

A type of grace and strength’s united sway.

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Her voice’s music is so sweet and true

You almost fancy through her heart to see;

And all she says is clever, full of sense;

Her ruddy lips a budding rose might be!

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It is not sensuous longing that I feel;

I’m not in love; my senses calm remain,

And yet her manners have a wondrous charm,

And as I kiss her hand I thrill with pain.

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Methinks at last I plunked a lily fair,

And gave it to her, saying: from my heart

Accept my troth, Ottilia, be my own,

That I may be as gentle as thou art.

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The answer that she gave I ne’er shall know

For I awake to find myself in tears, —

That I am ill and lying on my bed,

Forlorn as I have been these many years.

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