The Phoenix

A bird comes flying from the West,
It flies for the East,
Towards the Eastern garden-home
Where spices breathe their perfume and grow,
And palms rustle and springs give coolness –
And the  miracle-bird sings, flying :

“She loves him! She loves him!
She carries his likeness in her small heart
And carries it sweetly and secretly hidden,
And does not know it herself.
But in the dream he stands before her,
She entreats, and weeps and kisses his hands
And calls his name,
And calling, she wakes, wakes, and lies startled,
And rubs, astonished, her beautiful eyes –
She loves him, she loves him !”

~~Heinrich Heine (1949)     

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