There’s a mirror likeness between those two <br />shining, youthfully-fledged figures, though <br />one seems paler than the other and more austere, <br />I might even say more perfect, more distinguished, <br />than he, who would take me confidingly in his arms – <br />how soft then and loving his smile, how blessed his glance! <br />Then, it might well have been that his wreath <br />of white poppies gently touched my forehead, at times, <br />and drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent. <br />But that is transient. I can only, now, be well, <br />when the other one, so serious and pale, <br />the older brother, lowers his dark torch. – <br />Sleep is so good, Death is better, yet <br />surely never to have been born is best.<br /><br />Heinrich Heine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-and-his-brother-sleep-morphine/
