Song from Heine
I scanned her picture, dreaming, Till each dear line and hue Was imaged, to my seeming, As if it lived anew. Her lips began to borrow Their former wondrous smile; Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow, Grew sparkling as erstwhile. Such tears as often ran not Ran then, my love, for thee; And O, believe I cannot That thou art lost to me!
English Poetry - http://www.eng-poetry.ru/english/index.php. E-mail email@example.com