Burst out in wailing riot, <br />Thou darkling martyr-lay, <br />That in my soul, flame-quiet, <br />I've borne this many a day! <br /> <br />It thrills through every hearing <br />And so the heart doth gain. <br />I've conjured up, unfearing, <br />The thousand-year-old pain. <br /> <br />Great, little, weep and even <br />Cold hearts do tearful grow : <br />The small stars weep in heaven, <br />The maids and flowers below. <br /> <br />The tears, still southward fleeting, <br />To the still conclave go <br />And all, each other meeting, <br />Into the Jordan flow.<br /><br />Heinrich Heine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/with-a-copy-of-the-rabbi-of-bachwach/
