| |
| TAKE as gold this old tradition | |
| Of the royal-rendered wage, | |
| Guerdon of love’s mad ambition | |
| In the true heart of a page. | |
| |
| He, his passion vainly hiding, | 5 |
| Worn and pale with hopeless pain, | |
| Through the summer woods was riding | |
| Close beside his mistress’ rein. | |
| |
| “Why so sad, my page?” and turning, | |
| Gazed she straight into his eyes. | 10 |
| “T is thy thought my bosom burning | |
| With a flame that never dies.” | |
| |
| Flushed she then, but answered, “Carest | |
| Thou to feed the flame I bring? | |
| Look me full, and if thou darest, | 15 |
| Kiss the daughter of the king.” | |
| |
| Stark he stood, all wonders mingling, | |
| Then from heart to finger-tips | |
| Rushed the heated life-blood tingling | |
| As he seized upon her lips. | 20 |
| |
| Crushing newborn awe with laughter, | |
| Said she, “Thus must end thy pain; | |
| See thou never more hereafter | |
| Lookest for like grace again.” | |
| |
| Spake he glad: “Each leaf that glitters | 25 |
| In the sun thy gift hath seen; | |
| Every bird that sings and twitters | |
| Knoweth where my lips have been. | |
| |
| “And the winds from dawn to vesper, | |
| Blow they north or blow they south, | 30 |
| Softly in my ear shall whisper, | |
| ‘Thou hast kissed Schöne Rothraut’s mouth.’ | |
| |
| “Every floweret of the meadow, | |
| Every bird upon the tree, | |
| In life’s sunshine or its shadow, | 35 |
| Shall bring back my joy to me.” | |
| |
