Heinrich von Morung: “My Lady Loves…”



My lady dearly loves a pretty bird,

That sings and echoes back her gentle tone,

Were I, too, near her, never should be heard,

A songster’s note more pleasant than my own,

Sweeter than sweetest nightingale I’d sing.

For thee, my lady fair,

This yoke of love I bear.

Deign thou to comfort me, and ease my sorrowing.


Were but the troubles of my heart by her

Regarded, I would triumph in my pain;

But her proud heart stands firmly, and the stir

Of passionate grief o’ercomes not her distain,

Yet, yet I do remember how before

My eyes she stood and spoke,

And on her gentle look

My earnest gaze was fixed:

Oh, were it so once more.