Walter von der Vogelweide (1170–1228)

UNDER the linden-tree

Upon the heath,

There I lay with him.—Alas,

When you go there, you’ll see

The flowers beneath

Crushed and trodden with the grass.

By the forest in the dale,

Tandarady!

Sweetly sang the nightingale.

I strolled unto the green:

My lover true

Was waiting there impatiently.

Such welcome ne’er was seen—

Ah, if you knew!

My heart still throbs in ecstasy.

Kisses?—Thousands—more!—he took:

Tandarady!

See, how red my lips now look!

How he caressed me there,

If anyone

Should know: alas, how I should blush!

And all our pastime fair!

Ah, none, none, none

Shall know, but he and I—hush, hush!—

And the birdie on the tree.

Tandarady!

May that ever silent be!