| Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916. | | | | The Loreley | | By Heinrich Heine (1799–1856) |
| | | I KNOW not what evermore grieves me, | |
| What makes me sorrow so: | |
| A tale of old times never leaves me, | |
| A tale of long ago. | |
| |
| ’Tis cool and the shadows are growing, | 5 |
| And calmly flows the Rhine, | |
| The peak of the mountain is glowing | |
| Where evening sunrays shine. | |
| |
| There sits the most beautiful maiden | |
| On high, so wondrous fair, | 10 |
| With glittering gems she is laden, | |
| She combeth her golden hair. | |
| |
| Her golden comb doth glisten, | |
| She sings a song the while, | |
| The tune for all that listen | 15 |
| Has power to beguile. | |
| |
| The man in the boat is harking, | |
| He’s seized with wild, wild woe, | |
| And never the rock-reefs marking, | |
| He gazes on high from below. | 20 |
| |
| The waves, I believe, will be flinging | |
| The man from his boat to die; | |
| And all that from the singing— | |
| The lay of the Loreley! | | | | |
|
|
