Our death is in the cool of night, <br />our life is in the pool of day. <br />The darkness glows, I’m drowning, <br />the day has tired me with light. <br /> <br />Over my head in leaves grown deep, <br />sings the young nightingale. <br />It only sings of love there, <br />I hear it in my sleep.<br /><br />Heinrich Heine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-14/
