Yes, I have summoned many
Pale corpses by spells of might,
And now there is not any
Will slink back into the night.

The terror and horror drove from me
The master's o'erpowering spell;
And so my own spectres o'ercome me,
And drag me back into hell.

Urge me not, ye swart fiends, I implore ye!
Hurl me not to the darkness below;
There are many delights yet before me
In the sheen of our earth's rosy glow.

For ever must I be straining
After one fair flower near;
What were my whole life's meaning,
If I did not love thee, dear?

Might I only clasp her and press her
To my glowing heart once again;
On her cheeks, on her mouth to kiss her
Once only with rapturous pain!

Might I only hear one tender
Word from her lips at that hour,
O spirits, I would surrender
Myself to your gloomy power!

The spirits heard me, bending
Their heads as an awful sign.
Fair sweetheart—to thee am I wending;
Dost thou love me—fair sweetheart mine?
Author of original: 
Heinrich Heine
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