Classic Poem

Still ist die Nacht, es ruhen die Gassen

The night is still; the streets are quiet;
My sweetheart dwelt in this house of yore.
Long since she left the city's riot;
The house still stands as it stood before.

Here, too, there stands a man who gazes
On heaven and wrings his hands in despair
Lo, when his face the moonlight glazes —
It is myself that is standing there!

Oh pale, worn shadow, oh phantom double,
Why ape my bitter, love-sick tears,
That drove me here to an endless trouble,
Many a night in the vanished years.