Regarded, I would triumph in my pain;
But her proud heart stands firmly, and the stir
Of passionate grief o'ercomes not her disdain.
Yet, yet I do remember how before
My eyes she stood, and spoke,
And on her gentle look
My earnest gaze was fix'd; O were it so once more!"

Another Minnesinger, Kristan von Hamle, is an exponent of romantic love:

"Would that the meadow could speak!
And then would it truly declare
How happy was yesterday,
When my lady was there:
When she pluck'd its flowers, and gently prest
Her lovely feet on its verdant breast.
Meadow! what transport was thine,
When my lady walked across thee;
And her white hands pluck'd the flowers;
Those beautiful flowers that emboss thee I
Oh, suffer me, then, thou bright green sod,
To set my feet where my lady trod!"

And again, Master Hadlaub, the last of the line of true Minnesingers, at
the end of the thirteenth century:

"I saw yon' infant in her arms carest,
And as I gazed on her my pulse beat high;
Gently she clasp'd him to her snowy breast,
While I, in rapture lost, stood musing by;
Then her white hands around his neck she flung,
And prest him to her lips, and tenderly
Kiss'd his fair cheek as o'er the babe she hung.

"Straight she was gone; and then that lovely child
Ran joyfully to meet my warm embrace:
Then fancy with fond thoughts my soul beguiled;
It was herself! O dream of love and grace!
I clasp'd him, where her gentle hands had prest,
I kissed each spot which bore her lips' sweet trace,
And joy the while went bounding through my breast."

The minnesong reached its climax of perfection in Walter von der
Vogelweide, who is unsurpassed, even by Goethe, as a lyric poet. The
following dancing song is typical of his work:

"Lady, I said, this garland wear!
For thou wilt wear it gracefully;
And on thy brow 't will sit so fair;
And thou wilt dance so light and free;
Had I a thousand gems, on thee,
Fair one! their brilliant light should shine:
Would'st thou such gift accept from me,
O doubt me not, it should be thine.

"Lady, so beautiful thou art,
That I on thee the wreath bestow,