Der Tod, Das Ist

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

by Heinrich Heine Click to read full poem

Comments (9)

Beauty Is Hearing A Nightingale Sing Love In Our Sleep Delightful the young nightingale sings thrilled indifferent to death the young nightingale sings eternal only of shining new love the young nightingale sings beauty love sleeps in soft love Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Nature Loves The Interplay Between Night And Day nature loves the gap interplay between night and day swarms of life living flickering drowning in death camouflage hiding stalking in heatbeat life pulse day Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Remembrance Is A Sacred Flickering Candle Flame when daylight bright light, life late afternoon sunset fades when lustre of life, no longer outshines, bright full moon when the bright light, fades into final darkness, dust gloom it is time to light a pure white, candle pull down the shades Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Life Pooled In Days Spent Life Time Evaporated death comes fever hot in night sweats wet death comes creeping cold in nights winter sold death comes flesh seeking in hot summer heat death comes taking just before waking morning light; life pooled in bright daylight countless summer leaves life pooled in growing seasons learning walking lessons life pooled in sweeping years long years working rewards life pooled in sunshine friendships love victories losses; a night of death a day of life waking sleeping rules all web life darkness glows in starlight torches night sky burning ember bright drowning souls swallowed in darkness rivers current sky night; days spent drowning in light life wick tired burned short in light days shed life fluttering leaves shed over head in autumn piles night owl hoots sits awaits leaf running prey as the moon smiles; Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Days Spent Drowning In Light Life Wick days spent drowning in light life wick tired burned short in light days shed life fluttering leaves shed over head in autumn piles night owl hoots sits awaits leaf running prey as the moon smiles Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Drowning Souls Swallowed In Darkness a night of death a day of life waking sleeping rules all web life darkness glows in starlight torches night sky burning ember bright drowning souls swallowed in darkness rivers current sky night Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Life Pooled In Daylight Countless Summer Leaves life pooled in daylight countless summer leaves life pooled in growing learning walking lessons life pooled in years long years working rewards life pooled in friendships love victories losses Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
Death Comes Life Taking Not Long Before Dawn death comes fever hot in night sweats clamping wet death comes creeping cold in nights winter shiver sold death comes flesh seeking in hot summer stifling heat death comes taking just before waking morning light Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Der Tod, Das Ist' by the poet Heinrich Heine. Dedicated to the poet Heinrich Heine.
'Our death is in the cool of night, Our life is in the pool of day. The darkness glows, I’m drowning, Day’s tired me with light.' loved he play between night and day and drowning in death, continued with 'Over my head in leaves grown deep, ' then the turn of the young nightingale whih sings indifferent to death, which sings only of love, and the beauty of hearing a nightingale sing in our sleep is delightful