My love you are a mystery of tangled dreams to me,
a gift of life so rich my palate yearns to taste.
You come without an invitation yet
I welcome you with caution and dismay
So what of this love you bring to me
do I nullify or doubt
or should I blindly trust and savour this,
an endless banquet of delight.
You envelop me in toll-free love
then honour me with need.
My heart controls the closing blinds
to filter in your soft and gentle light.
Reminded of a presence passed
so many dreadful memories ago.
It is with empty, cut and bleeding hands
That I caress and hold your beauty now
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ulrich von Lichetenstein wrote in a similar vein when he vowed to pursue a lady, pure and true. Repulsed he was but never deviating from his cause, he joisted and won battles under a distant sun. Even cutting off his finger to erase thoughts that might linger about his dedication and love to the lady with this trove. Such it was in 1226 or so he struggled with love aglow and wrote in rhyme to remember those dark winters of december. s