 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
Yes, I sing thee my English songs, my Love,
Thou canst listen their music now;
Thou wert born in a far distant land, my Love,
And all dumbly thou woo'dst and didst win me, my Love,
Didst win me I know not how;
For our hearts had but mystic 'trothal, my Love,
And were plighted without a vow.
Thou canst listen their music now;
Thou wert born in a far distant land, my Love,
And all dumbly thou woo'dst and didst win me, my Love,
Didst win me I know not how;
For our hearts had but mystic 'trothal, my Love,
And were plighted without a vow.
Thy mother, she sang English songlets, my Love,
To the boy on her cradling knee;
And now thou art gone to her home above
(As we know but one language to those we love)
She may speak the old tongue to thee:
And the trick of the sweet mother speech, my Love,
It may mind thee in heaven of me.
To the boy on her cradling knee;
And now thou art gone to her home above
(As we know but one language to those we love)
She may speak the old tongue to thee:
And the trick of the sweet mother speech, my Love,
It may mind thee in heaven of me.
| The new minnesinger and other poems | |