The beautiful sun
has quietly descended into the sea.
The surging water is already tinted
by dusky night -
But still the red of evening
sprinkles it with golden lights.
And the rushing might of the tide
presses toward the shore the white waves,
that merrily and numbly leap
like woolly flacks of sheep,
which at evening the singing shepherd boy
drives homeward.
Heinrich Heine
1824