As Mine are Chosen

As mine are chosen
In smart sin
Make each die climbing ladders
Towards heaven cling;
Those hired to feed her
Under flags lest I hear her sin.

So fading are vague tritons
Docked to common sights
Wider and creaking
And creaking under woolen nights;
Sagging was I
Hurt and shooting.

That was my interpretation of the following German poem. I don’t speak German:

Heinrich Heine: Aus Meinen grossen Schemerzen

Aus meinen grossen Schmerzen
Mach’ ich die leinen Lieder;
Die heben ihr klingend Gefieder
Und flattern nach ihrem Herzen.

Sie fanden den Weg zur Trauten,
Dock kommen sie wieder und klagen,
Und klagen und wollen night sagen
Was sie im Herzen schauten.

Which really translates to:

From grief too great to banish
Come songs, my lyric minions;
They lift their airy pinions
And toward her bosom vanish.

I let them rise and depart there —
But soon they flew homeward complaining
Complaining, but never explaining
What they had seen in her heart there.

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