Song
Oft in galleries of artThou hast seen a knight perchance,Eager for the wars to start,Well-equipped with shield and lance.
Him the frolic loves have found,Robbed him of his sword and spear,And with chains of flowers have boundTheir unwilling chevalier.
Held by such sweet hindrances,Wreathed with bliss and pain, I stay,While my comrades in the pressWage the battle of the day.
Night lay upon my eyelids,About my lips earth clave;With stony heart and foreheadI lay within my grave.
How long I cannot reckon,I slept in that strait bed;I woke and heard distinctlyA knocking overhead.
"Wilt thou not rise, my Henry?The eternal dawn is here;The dead have re-arisen,Immortal bliss is near."
"I cannot rise, my darling,I am blinded to the day.Mine eyes with tears, thou knowest,Have wept themselves away."
"Oh, I will kiss them, Henry,Kiss from thine eyes the night.Thou shalt behold the angelsAnd the celestial light."
"I cannot rise, my darling,My blood is still outpouredWhere thou didst wound my heart onceWith sharp and cruel word."
"I'll lay my hand, dear Henry,Upon thy heart again.Then shall it cease from bleeding.And stilled shall be its pain."
"I cannot rise, my darling,My head is bleeding--see!I shot myself, thou knowest,When thou wast reft from me."
"Oh, with my hair, dear Henry,I'll staunch the cruel wound,And press the blood-stream backward;Thou shalt be whole and sound."
So kind, so sweet she wooed me,I could not say her nay;I tried to rise and follow,And clasp my loving may.
Then all my wounds burst open,From head and breast outbreakThe gushing blood in torrents--And lo, I am awake!
Death comes, and now must I make knownThat which my pride eternallyPrayed to withhold; for thee, for thee,My heart has throbbed for thee alone.
The coffin waits! within my graveThey drop me soon, where I shall rest.But thou, Marie, shalt beat thy breast,And think of me, and weep and rave.
And thou shalt wring thy hands, my friend.Be comforted! it is our fate,Our human fate, the good and greatAnd fair must have an evil end.
Words in this poem
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- chevalier n.
- A horseman; a knight; a gallant young man. [F., fr. LL. caballarius. See Cavaller.]
- wage v. i.
- To bind one's self; to engage.
- shalt
- 2d per. sing. of Shall.
- didst
- , the 2d pers. sing. imp. of Do.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- wast
- The second person singular of the verb be, in the indicative mood, imperfect tense; -- now used only in solemn or poetical style.
- reft n.
- A chink; a rift. See Rift. Rom. of R.
- outbreak n.
- A bursting forth; eruption; insurrection.
- eternally adv.
- In an eternal manner.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Song is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems and Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #31726, the Emma Lazarus translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Heinrich Heine, Song, in Poems and Ballads (1881), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #31726, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/heine-poems-ballads/song.html, id L15327.
Form and metre
Song is 68 lines in 17 stanzas of 4 lines each. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.0 syllables. 22 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 19% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in common measure.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB artA · perchanceB · startA · lanceB
- 2 ABAB foundA · spearB · boundA · chevalierB
- 3 -A-A hindrances · stayA · press · dayA
- 4 -A-A eyelids · claveA · forehead · graveA
- 5 -A-A reckon · bedA · distinctly · overheadA
- 6 -A-A henry · hereA · arisen · nearA
- 7 -A-A darling · dayA · knowest · awayA
- 8 -A-A henry · nightA · angels · lightA
- 10 -A-A henry · againA · bleeding · painA
- 11 -A-A darling · seeA · knowest · meA
- 12 -A-A henry · woundA · backward · soundA
- 13 -A-A me · nayA · follow · mayA
- 14 -A-A open · outbreakA · torrents · awakeA
- 15 A--A knownA · eternally · thee · aloneA
- 16 ABBA graveA · restB · breastB · raveA
- 17 ABBA friendA · fateB · greatB · endA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Oft in galleries of art | 7 | ··/˘˘·· |
| Thou hast seen a knight perchance, | 7 | ·····˘/ |
| Eager for the wars to start, | 7 | /˘····· |
| Well-equipped with shield and lance. | 8 | ·˘/˘···· |
| Him the frolic loves have found, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Robbed him of his sword and spear, | 8 | ·˘······ |
| And with chains of flowers have bound | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Their unwilling chevalier. | 7 | ·˘/˘·˘/ |
| Held by such sweet hindrances, | 7 | ····/˘˘ |
| Wreathed with bliss and pain, I stay, | 8 | ·˘······ |
| While my comrades in the press | 7 | ··/···· |
| Wage the battle of the day. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Night lay upon my eyelids, | 7 | ·····/· |
| About my lips earth clave; | 6 | ······ |
| With stony heart and forehead | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| I lay within my grave. | 6 | ······ |
| How long I cannot reckon, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| I slept in that strait bed; | 6 | ······ |
| I woke and heard distinctly | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| A knocking overhead. | 6 | ·/˘/˘/ |
| "Wilt thou not rise, my Henry? | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The eternal dawn is here; | 7 | ·˘/˘··· |
| The dead have re-arisen, | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Immortal bliss is near." | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| "I cannot rise, my darling, | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| I am blinded to the day. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Mine eyes with tears, thou knowest, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Have wept themselves away." | 6 | ··˘/˘/ |
| "Oh, I will kiss them, Henry, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Kiss from thine eyes the night. | 6 | ······ |
| Thou shalt behold the angels | 7 | ··˘/·/˘ |
| And the celestial light." | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| "I cannot rise, my darling, | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| My blood is still outpoured | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Where thou didst wound my heart once | 7 | ······· |
| With sharp and cruel word." | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "I'll lay my hand, dear Henry, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Upon thy heart again. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Then shall it cease from bleeding. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And stilled shall be its pain." | 7 | ··˘···· |
| "I cannot rise, my darling, | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| My head is bleeding--see! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I shot myself, thou knowest, | 7 | ···/·/˘ |
| When thou wast reft from me." | 6 | ······ |
| "Oh, with my hair, dear Henry, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| I'll staunch the cruel wound, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And press the blood-stream backward; | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Thou shalt be whole and sound." | 6 | ······ |
| So kind, so sweet she wooed me, | 8 | ······˘· |
| I could not say her nay; | 6 | ······ |
| I tried to rise and follow, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And clasp my loving may. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Then all my wounds burst open, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| From head and breast outbreak | 6 | ····/· |
| The gushing blood in torrents-- | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| And lo, I am awake! | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Death comes, and now must I make known | 8 | ········ |
| That which my pride eternally | 8 | ····˘/˘˘ |
| Prayed to withhold; for thee, for thee, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| My heart has throbbed for thee alone. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| The coffin waits! within my grave | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| They drop me soon, where I shall rest. | 8 | ········ |
| But thou, Marie, shalt beat thy breast, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| And think of me, and weep and rave. | 8 | ········ |
| And thou shalt wring thy hands, my friend. | 8 | ········ |
| Be comforted! it is our fate, | 8 | ·/˘˘··/· |
| Our human fate, the good and great | 8 | //˘····· |
| And fair must have an evil end. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.