Wenn ich an deinem Hause

I pass your little window
The mornings that are fair,
And I am thrilled, my darling,
Whene'er I see you there.

Your deep brown eyes disturb me,
They question and condole,
" Who art thou and what ails thee,
Oh pale and wandering soul? "

I am a German poet,
In German lands I shine;
And where great names are mentioned
They're sure to speak of mine.

As for my sickness, darling,
It's rather a common sign . . .
And where great griefs are mentioned
They're sure to speak of mine.