Translations from Heine.
183
BODY AND SOUL.
The poor Soul speaketh to its Clay:
I cannot leave thee thus; I'll stay
With thee, with thee in death will sink
And black Annihilation drink.
Thou still hast been my second I,
Embracing me so lovingly;
A satin feast-robe round my form
Doubled with ermine soft and warm.
Woe's me! I dare not face the fact—
Quite disembodied, quite abstract,
To loiter as a blessèd Naught
Above there in the realm of Thought,
Through Heavenly halls immense and frigid,
Where the Immortals dumb and rigid
Yawn to me as they clatter by
With leaden clogs so wearily.
Oh, it is horrible! Oh, stay,
Stay with me, thou beloved Clay!
