Читать книгу Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine - Heinrich Heine - Страница 7

I have been wont to bear my forehead high—

My stubborn temper yields with no good grace.

The king himself might look me in the face,

And yet I would not downward cast mine eye.

But I confess, dear mother, openly,

However proud my haughty spirit swell,

When I within thy blessed presence dwell,

Oft am I smit with shy humility.

Is it thy soul, with secret influence,

Thy lofty soul piercing all shows of sense,

Which soareth, heaven-born, to heaven again?

Or springs it from sad memories that tell

How many a time I caused thy dear heart pain,

Thy gentle heart, that loveth me so well!