XXXIII.

Ah, those pure white lily fingers,

Once again could I but kiss them,

Press them close against my heart,

Melt away in silent weeping!

Oh, those clearest eyes of violet

Hover day and night before me,

And I ponder o'er the meaning

Of those lovely blue enigmas.

Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine · 第 59 / 177 题