Es schauen die Blumen alle
zur leuchtenden Sonne hinaus;
es nehmen die Ströme alle
zum leuchtenden Meere den Lauf.
Es flattern die Lieder alle
zu meinem leuchtenden Lieb;
Nehmt mit meine Tränen und Seufzer,
ihr Lieder, wehmütig und trüb.

Heinrich Heine
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