I dreamed, you're dead.
Heine
I dreamed of the death of the beloved creatures of:
High, in flowers, coffin was moody.
The crowd thronged round the, and voice of compassion
Me every so sympathetically whispered.
And I looked around without a thought, without involvedin,
Meeting wanted to help me down;
I felt at the top of unshakable happiness,
Around him ruthless night.
I thank you all for the words of comfort
And rookie sorry, and sang the thought of blood:
"Blessed, the eternal spirit has carried away your torment!
Blessed is the creation of lost love!»
10 November 1898
