Song From Heine

 I scanned her picture dreaming, 
 Till each dear line and hue 
Was imaged, to my seeming, 
 As if it lived anew.
 

Her lips began to borrow 
 Their former wondrous smile; 
Her fair eyes, faint with sorrow, 
 Grew sparkling as erstwhile.
 

Such tears as often ran not 
 Ran then, my love, for thee; 
And O, believe I cannot 
 That thou are lost to me!

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