A stranger pilgrim spoke to me,
Unquestioned, of my lady bright:
He told me of her beauty rare,
How kind she was, how courteous, fair;
A tale it was of soft delight,
That o’er my heart came pleasantly.
“Heaven grant my love a happy day!”
Each other greeting thus denied,
Still does my spirit fondly say
Ever at morning’s earliest ray;
And, ne’er forgot at eventide,
My kind “goodnight” I constant pay.
Almost by reason was my frame
Deserted, when I left her last,
When fair she beam’d upon my eye,
Bright as the glowing evening sky;
Joy in her favour was o’ercast
By sorrowing thoughts that o’er me came.
She bade me, when I from her went,
My sorrowing song to her convey;
And I would pour it now to her
Could I but find a messenger,
Who, bearing to her hand the lay,
Might gracefully my song present.
And should one herald fail, away
Straight would I send a thousand more;
And should they all convey the song,
And dwell in concert soft and long
Upon the strain,– perhaps that hour
A thankful word my toil might pay.
(Her Ruodolf von Rotenburg)
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Based on Topics: Joy & Excitement Poems, Fairness Poems, Happiness Poems, Morning Poems, Reasoning Poems, Present PoemsBased on Keywords: unquestioned