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He sinks, it seemeth me, at last The waves among: – Such is the work of Lorelei And of the song she sung. 43 Dec 1887. ----¯----
In the Violet-time ------I The blackthorn-buds are breaking where, but now, Gaunt yew-trees caught the bitter rime, And where upon the uplands soon will bow Green glories of the Summer’s prime.
43 A translation of “Die Loreli” (1822) by Heinrich Heine (1799-186).