Death

Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.

Over my head in leaves grown deep,
sings the young nightingale.
It only sings of love there,
I hear it in my sleep.

by Heinrich Heine

Comments (11)

Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~ Oooh~
oh my God....what a way to portray ones transient to the beyond
Life and death a reality of worldly life.good poem.
I wonder where he's sleeping, but there's romance here about a moment that is too late for waking up on.
A chronicle on life and death. A reflecton on the absurdity of life. Good blend of rhyme scheme. Sylva.
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