Round my cradle shimmered the last moonbeams of the eighteenth century and the first morning rays of the nineteenth.
Heinrich HeineOur sweetest hopes rise blooming. And then again are gone, They bloom and fade alternate, And so it goes rolling on. I know it, and it troubles My life, my love, my rest, My heart is wise and witty, And it bleeds within my breast.
Heinrich HeineThe years keep coming and going, Men will arise & depart; Only one thing is immortal: The love that is in my heart.
Heinrich Heine