Sonnet 34
by Heinrich Heine
When in the tomb, my mistress fair,
The chilly tomb, thou must hide thee.
I’ll soon descend to rejoin thee there,
And fondly nestle beside thee.
I wildly will press thee, embrace thee, and kiss
My pale, cold, fearful-to-see love!
I’ll tremble, weep, shout with rapturous bliss,
And soon be a corpse like thee, love.
The dead will arise, when midnight is nigh,
And dance in airy troops lightly;
But we in the tomb will quietly lie,
Thine arms embracing me tightly.
The dead will arise, when the loud trump of doom
To bliss or to torment is calling;
But regardless of all, we’ll remain in the tomb,
Still clasp’d in embraces enthralling.
๑۞๑ Related:๑۞๑
† Poetry
† Short Stories