Wolfram von Eschenbach

Wolfram von Eschenbach Poems

Wolfram von Eschenbach Biography

Wolfram von Eschenbach (born c. 1170, died c. 1220) was a German knight and poet, regarded as one of the greatest epic poets of his time. As a Minnesinger, he also wrote lyric poetry. Wolfram is best known today for his Parzival, sometimes regarded as the greatest of all German epics from that time. Based on Chrétien de Troyes' Perceval, le Conte du Graal, it is the first extant work in German to have as its subject the Holy Grail. In the poem, Wolfram expresses disdain for Chrétien's (unfinished) version of the tale, and states that his source was a poet from Provence called Kyot. Some scholars believe Wolfram might have meant Guiot de Provins (though none of the latter's surviving works relate to the themes of Parzival), however others believe Kyot was simply a literary device invented by Wolfram to explain his deviations from Chrétien's version. Wolfram is the author of two other narrative works: the unfinished Willehalm and the fragmentary Titurel. These were both composed after Parzival, and Titurel mentions the death of Hermann I, which dates it firmly after 1217. Wolfram's nine surviving songs, five of which are dawn-songs, are regarded as masterpieces of Minnesang.)

The Best Poem Of Wolfram von Eschenbach

Would I The Lofty Spirit Melt

Would I the lofty spirit melt
Of that proud dame who dwells so high,
Kind heaven must aid me, or unfelt
By her will be its agony.
Joy in my soul no place can find:
As well might I a suitor be
To thunderbolts, as hope her mind
Will turn in softer mood to me.

Those cheeks are beautiful, are bright
As the red rose with dewdrops grac'd;
And faultless is the lovely light
Of those dear eyes, that, on me plac'd,
Pierce to my very heart, and fill
My soul with love's consuming fires,
While passion burns and reigns at will;
So deep the love that fair inspires!

But joy upon her beauteous form
Attends, her hues so bright to shed
O'er those red lips, before whose warm
And beaming smile all care is fled.
She is to me all light and joy,
I faint, I die, before her frown;
Even Venus, liv'd she yet on earth,
A fairer goddess here must own.....

While many mourn the vanish'd light
Of summer, and the sweet sun's face
I mourn that these, however bright,
No anguish from the soul can chase
By love inflicted: all around,
Nor song of birds, nor ladies' bloom,
Nor flowers upspringing from the ground,
Can chase or cheer the spirits' gloom.....

Yet still thine aid, belov'd! impart,
Of all thy power, thy love, make trial;
Bid joy revive in thise sad heart,
Joy that expires at thy denial:
Well may I pour my prayer to thee,
Beloved lady, since 'tis thine
Alone to send such care on me;
Alone for thee I ceaseless pine.

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