But when I loitered in foreign climes,
And I dreamed there regardless of seasons and times,
My darling found that the time went slow,
And she stitched and contrived for herself a trousseau,
And as husband in tender arms she wound
The dullest young dullard for miles around.
My love is so gentle and fair to see,
That her gracious image still haunteth me;
The violet eyes and the cheek's rose-hue
Will bloom and will blossom the whole year through;
To let slip by so charming a wife
Was the dullest of all the dull acts of my life.
Author of original: 
Heinrich Heine
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