Walter von der Vogelweide (1170–1228)

BESET with doubts, in agony

I sat quite long alone and thought

How from her service I might be free,

Until a comfort gladness brought.

This thing a comfort I can hardly call,

’Tis scarce a baby comfort—oh, so small!

And if I tell you, you’ll be mocking me:

Yet without cause no one can happy be.

A little stalk has made me glad to-day;

It promised happiness I never knew:

I measured with a stalk of straw in play,

As I had often seen the children do.

Now listen, if her heart my love has heeded:

“She loves—loves not—she loves!” Which way my hands would bend,

“She loves me!” always was the end.

So I am happy; only—faith is needed!