Wrapped in clouds, as in a mantle, / Now the great gods sleep together / And I hear them, bravely snoring. / And were having awful weather.      It grows wilder; winds are howling / And the masts are bent like willows. / Who can curb the lordly tempest, / Put a bridle on the billows!     I cant stop it, let it come then; / Storms and terrors without number. I will wrap my mantle round me, / And, like any god, Ill slumber.” 99 Heinrich Heine, “Eingehüllt in graue Wolken,” in Poems of Heinrich Heine, trans. Louis Untermeyer (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1916), 151.