 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
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YOUTH TIME.
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.
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SONGS.
I.
They lov'd thee dear, they mourn'd thee dead;
Time flies and they forget:
To me no pitying word was said;
I had no right one tear to shed,
And I remember yet!
Time flies and they forget:
To me no pitying word was said;
I had no right one tear to shed,
And I remember yet!
The happy ones thou lov'dst so well
Thy memory have forgot;
But I, brief friend, who scarce can tell,
Or if thou lov'dst, or lov'dst me well,
Lo, I forget thee not.
Thy memory have forgot;
But I, brief friend, who scarce can tell,
Or if thou lov'dst, or lov'dst me well,
Lo, I forget thee not.
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So sweet the very thought of thee
Illumes my earthly lot,
I care not wheresoe'er I be,
Or rich or poor, or bond or free,
So I forget thee not!
Illumes my earthly lot,
I care not wheresoe'er I be,
Or rich or poor, or bond or free,
So I forget thee not!
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II.
And how did I know thou lov'dst me?
So tell me how it can be
The bird hath broodings of summer
From the lands beyond the sea?
So tell me how it can be
The bird hath broodings of summer
From the lands beyond the sea?
And how did I know I lov'd thee;
Sweet love, so tell me what brings
The sudden passion, the yearning,
The throb to the folded wings?
Sweet love, so tell me what brings
The sudden passion, the yearning,
The throb to the folded wings?
O the little birds fly blindly
To their home across the sea;
As I to the endless summer
Deep-hid in thy heart for me!
To their home across the sea;
As I to the endless summer
Deep-hid in thy heart for me!
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III.
The purple violets for me
Their sweetness had outprest,
And with my sweet love's memory
I laid their sweet to rest;
And round my heart I felt it cling,
Till passing, later on,
A bank of bluer blossoming
From which the scent had gone,
The mocking sight so griev'd my sense,
I felt it tear away
The wealth of folded redolence
That in my bosom lay.
Their sweetness had outprest,
And with my sweet love's memory
I laid their sweet to rest;
And round my heart I felt it cling,
Till passing, later on,
A bank of bluer blossoming
From which the scent had gone,
The mocking sight so griev'd my sense,
I felt it tear away
The wealth of folded redolence
That in my bosom lay.
I lov'd thee so, with every scene
In which thy love had part,
Sweet memories of what had been
Were folded to my heart.
I went to gather fresher store
From haunts that used to be
So sweet, so passing sweet, before,
So fragrant full of thee.
I saw, but oh not what I sought,
And now shall see no more
In rapture of memorial thought
The scene so sweet before!
In which thy love had part,
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Were folded to my heart.
I went to gather fresher store
From haunts that used to be
So sweet, so passing sweet, before,
So fragrant full of thee.
I saw, but oh not what I sought,
And now shall see no more
In rapture of memorial thought
The scene so sweet before!
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IV.
Could I but give to other eyes
What most hath raptur'd mine,
Then were my life's fair memories
By sweet transition thine.
What most hath raptur'd mine,
Then were my life's fair memories
By sweet transition thine.
For thee from things of outer gain
'Tis not enough to part;
I long to give thee what hath lain
All close about my heart.
'Tis not enough to part;
I long to give thee what hath lain
All close about my heart.
The scenes I travell'd far to see
That in my life have wrought
The dream, the golden fantasy,
The touch of finer thought.
That in my life have wrought
The dream, the golden fantasy,
The touch of finer thought.
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But though I stripped my sweetest years
Of their full store of bliss,
Oh yet I fear my love appears
But miserly in this—
Of their full store of bliss,
Oh yet I fear my love appears
But miserly in this—
That I, Sapphira-like in stealth,
Should yield not all I prize;
Unwilling to forego the wealth
Won from thy bounteous eyes.
Should yield not all I prize;
Unwilling to forego the wealth
Won from thy bounteous eyes.
And while I keep their sunset kiss,
Their calm of twilight gray,
No other memory I could miss
Though all were stole away!
Their calm of twilight gray,
No other memory I could miss
Though all were stole away!
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V.
‘Geistern bin ich noch verbunden.’
Spirit, thou wand'rest,
But tell me where?
I go to the graveyard
And weep thee there;
But tell me where?
I go to the graveyard
And weep thee there;
I've sought thee in visions,
But vainly sought;
Thou com'st not in dreams to
My waking thought.
But vainly sought;
Thou com'st not in dreams to
My waking thought.
To memory's solace
I idly flee:
The past is precious,
But past to thee.
I idly flee:
The past is precious,
But past to thee.
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And mock'd, and scorning
A search so vain,
I look all whither
The way to gain
A search so vain,
I look all whither
The way to gain
(That strangely, darkly
Thou seem'st to hide)
To thee, the living,
The long-denied!
Thou seem'st to hide)
To thee, the living,
The long-denied!
No terrors chill me,
No fleshly dread;
Though thou wert number'd
Among the dead,
No fleshly dread;
Though thou wert number'd
Among the dead,
And now, new-risen,
Wert strangely fair,
My love's confiding
Thou could'st not scare.
Wert strangely fair,
My love's confiding
Thou could'st not scare.
Through heaven's disguises
I still should greet
What made the eyes and
The lips so sweet.
I still should greet
What made the eyes and
The lips so sweet.
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Spirit, thou wand'rest,
But tell me where?
My thoughts are waiting,
My love is there!
But tell me where?
My thoughts are waiting,
My love is there!
Or, if thou fearest
The veil to break,
Some subtler path to
My spirit take.
The veil to break,
Some subtler path to
My spirit take.
I wander darkling;
But oh the blind
Without the sunlight
No summer find!
But oh the blind
Without the sunlight
No summer find!
My eyes are holden;
But still I ask
In golden warmth of
Thy love to bask.
But still I ask
In golden warmth of
Thy love to bask.
Let me but feel thee
About my heart;
Let us not linger
A life apart!
About my heart;
Let us not linger
A life apart!
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Spirit, thou wand'rest,
But tell me where?
Lest Faith, heart-broken,
Become Despair!
But tell me where?
Lest Faith, heart-broken,
Become Despair!
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VI.
I think of thee over and over again;
The words of thy silence, the words thou hast said;
And the memory comes with a throb of pain,
As milk to the bosom, the baby dead.
The words of thy silence, the words thou hast said;
And the memory comes with a throb of pain,
As milk to the bosom, the baby dead.
O 'twas sweet to think of thee over again,
When over again thou could'st think of me;
But now I am lonely, my travel vain,
When tearful I turn to the past for thee.
When over again thou could'st think of me;
But now I am lonely, my travel vain,
When tearful I turn to the past for thee.
Yet ne'er must thou think of me over again,
So lonely, so longing, with heart so sore;
From thine eyes all the shadow, the grief be ta'en,
While mine, let them weep for thee more and more.
So lonely, so longing, with heart so sore;
From thine eyes all the shadow, the grief be ta'en,
While mine, let them weep for thee more and more.
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But, love, if e'er loverwise over again,
In some dim afartime of life we meet;
If e'er, rich with a myriad-worlded gain,
We find the old lore of our childhood sweet,
In some dim afartime of life we meet;
If e'er, rich with a myriad-worlded gain,
We find the old lore of our childhood sweet,
If the heart's home-memories may still remain,
And the flowers bloom fresh that on earth we grew,
We'll think of it over and over again,
Of the olden love that is chang'd to new.
And the flowers bloom fresh that on earth we grew,
We'll think of it over and over again,
Of the olden love that is chang'd to new.
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VII.
The sun is down, but the sky
Is thinking about him yet;
The clouds wear the rosy dye
That they wore before he set.
Is thinking about him yet;
The clouds wear the rosy dye
That they wore before he set.
Thou art gone; but a light from thee
To my inmost soul doth shine;
And the end of my life must be
That men should remember thine.
To my inmost soul doth shine;
And the end of my life must be
That men should remember thine.
My songs are the rosy cloud
All bath'd in the sunbeams' glow,
While the sun is wrapp'd in his shroud
By the darksome waves below.
All bath'd in the sunbeams' glow,
While the sun is wrapp'd in his shroud
By the darksome waves below.
| The new minnesinger and other poems | |