Love
Lost Labour
Translated by Frank C. Nicholson (1907) · From Old German Love Songs (1907)
Summer brings again before us
Trees in leaf and birds in chorus;
Flowers are come to clothe the plain.
Forth from winter's fetters sally
Heath and meadow, hill and valley:
Roses red are seen again.
All the world to mirth is turning;
Only I alone am mourning,
Since my lady in her scorning.
Deals my heart such bitter pain.
He who sings a weary time
Disregarded, unrewarded,
Wastes in vain full many a rhyme.
To the world I'll make confession
That she lives in deep transgression,
Whom I served so constantly.
All my cares are of her making;
'Tis for her my heart is breaking.
That is what she will not see.
How should she do penance ever?
She hath smiled upon me never;
So 'tis best that we should sever.
I shall bid good-bye, and flee.
He who sings a weary time
Disregarded, unrewarded,
Wastes in vain full many a rhyme.
Lady, who beyond all measure
Once did fill my heart with pleasure,
Hearken to my last, brief strain!
You are fair, indeed, yet beauty
Oft to pride will pay its duty;
This, alas, in you is plain!
To a lady worthier, sweeter,
Who can make all joys completer,
I will turn my song, and greet her.
Her now will I serve full fain.
He who sings a weary time
Disregarded, unrewarded.
Wastes in vain full many a rhyme.
Worthy Love, thou must be humbled!
Since within thy bonds I stumbled,
Little heed to me thou hast paid.
From my song I get small profit;
Not a word thou hearest of it
Never have I found thine aid.
With a wound my heart is bleeding,
Which from sparkling eyes came speeding;
I received it all unheeding.
Service here were fitly made.
He who sings a weary time
Disregarded, unrewarded.
Wastes in vain full many a rhyme.
Love, my wounds—I bid thee heal them!
'Twas thine arrow that did deal them
In its swift and sudden flight.
By two eyes am I enchanted,
Which o'er two bright cheeks are planted,
And beneath them—what a sight!
Two red lips that burn like fire
Took me captive with desire:
Never shall my love expire;
Through my heart her gaze did smite.
He who serves a lady pure
Well may merit to inherit
Fair reward at last, be sure!
Cite this poem
MLA
Winterstetten, Ulrich von. “Lost Labour.” Translated by Frank C. Nicholson. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/ulrich-von-winterstetten/0/.
Chicago
Winterstetten, Ulrich von. “Lost Labour.” Translated by Frank C. Nicholson. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/ulrich-von-winterstetten/0/.