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When in the early morning
Slow past thy house I pace,
It cheers me to see at thy lattice,
My child, thy fair young face.

With eyes of darkest hazel,
Wistful my face dost scan:
“Who art thou, and what ails thee,
Thou friendless, suffering man?”

I am a German poet,
Known through our Germany;
When the best names are spoken,
Men speak of mine and me.

And that, my child, which ails me,
Ails others in Germany;
When they speak of the bitterest sorrows,
Men speak of mine and me.
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Author of original: 
Heinrich Heine
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