  Lay, darling, thy hand on this heart of mine! Ah! hear'st thou that knocking within the shrine? A cruel carpenter dwells there, and he Is busily making a coffin for me! There's hammering and pounding by day and by night; All sleep from my eyelids he scares in affright: Ah, Master Carpenter, work still more fast, That so I may slumber in peace at last! —Heine. |
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