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Still is the night, it quiets the streets down, In that window my love would appear; She's long since gone away from this town, But this house where she lived still remains here. A man stands here too, staring up into space, And wrings his hands with the strength of his pain: It chills me, when I behold his pale face For the moon shows me my own features again! You spirit double, you specter with my face Why do you mock my love-pain so That tortured me here, here in this place So many nights, so long ago?


Heinrich Heine


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Did you know about Heinrich Heine?

In 1844 Heine wrote series of musical feuilletons over several different music seasons discussing the music of the day. The Prussian government angry at the publication of Vorwärts put pressure on France to deal with its authors and in January 1845 Marx was deported to Belgium. In 1815 on Napoleon's downfall it became part of Prussia.

Heine spent the last 25 years of his life as an expatriate in Paris. He was also a journalist essayist and literary critic.

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