THE CITY after HEINE

THE CITY

after the German of Heinrich Heine

There on the far horizon

Like a mist-made picture seems

The city with its towers,

All veiled in dusk-pale gleams.

A humid wind gust ruffles

The waterway's grey face;

The oarsman in my craft

Now rows with sorrow's pace.

The sun lifts out for one last time,

Lights land from low-above,

And shows that place to me

Where I have lost my love.