It has died in me, as it must,
Every idle, earthly lust,
My hatred too of wickedness,
Utterly now, even the sense,
Of my own, of other mens distress
All thats living in me is Death!
The curtain falls, the play is done,
And my dear German publics gone,
Wandering home, and yawning so,
Those good folk arent stupid though:
Theyll dine happily enough tonight,
Drink, and sing, and laugh Hes right,
The noble hero in Homers book,
Who said once that the meanest schmuck,
The lowest little Philistine there,
In Stuttgart (am Neckar), is happier
Than I, son of Peleus, the hero, furled,
The shadow prince in the Underworld.
Der Scheidende
written byHeinrich Heine
© Heinrich Heine