Rest for the weary brain and silence to my sorrow keen.
—Translated by Charles Derbyshire.
TO THE FLOWERS OF HEIDELBERG
Go to my native land, go, foreign flowers.
Sown by the traveler on his way;
And there, beneath its azure sky,
Where all of my affections lie;
There from the weary pilgrim say,
What faith is his in that land of ours!
Go there and tell how when the dawn,