Song from Heine
I scanned her picture dreaming,Till each dear line and hueWas imaged, to my seeming,As if it lived anew.
Her lips began to borrowTheir former wondrous smile;Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow,Grew sparkling as erstwhile.
Such tears as often ran notRan then, my love, for thee;And O, believe I cannotThat thou are lost to me!
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