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March 22, 1941 - Image 7

Resource type:
The Michigan Daily, 1941-03-22

Disclaimer: Computer generated plain text may have errors. Read more about this.


Page Seven


(Munchner Handschrift): 13: Jahrhundert
I '
Floret silva undique/
nah mime gesellen ist mir we/
Gruonet der walt allenthalben/
wa ist min geselle alse lange
Der ist geritten hinpen
owi/ we sol mich minnen
Auwe lip vor allem libe
wie kunde ich daz verdinen
umbe got und umbe dich /
daz du/ vrouwe woldest minnen mich
II ,
Chume/ chume/ gesselle min/
ih enbite harte din/
ih enbite harte din/
chume / chume/ geselle min/
Suozer roservarwer munt
chum und mache mich gesunt
chum und mache mich gesunt/
suozer roservarwer munt
Ich will truren varen lan/
uf die heide sulwir gan/
vil liebe gespilen min/
da sehwir der blumen schin/
Ich sage dir/ ich sage dir/
min geselle/ chum mit mir
Suziu minne/ rame min/
mache mir ein chrenzelin/
daz sol tragen ein stolzer man/
der wol wiben dienen chan/
We talk of childhood, while the winter dusk
Is blent to evening, and the fire dims
Forgotten in the grate. The burnished horse,
Poised for prancing at the andiron's tip,
Begins to breathe beneath its flickering brass,-
By shadow-magic stirred to molten life.
You rap your pipe against the mantle shelf,
Spilling a rosy comet to the hearth;
Then fill and light, and toss the charring match
Into the grate.
"There whisked across my mind,
Just now, a shred of memory," you begin,
"So meaningless, it's hardly worth my chase
Behind the wind of time, to capture it ...'
Something about brass horses ... I was five ...
And so, remembering, you build a tale.
Between your groping words I hear the clink
And chatter of a tea-time long ago;
The room is fragrant with the vague perfume
Of ladies; and, oblivious to the guests,
A solemn little boy with stockinged knees
Sprawls on the carpet here, before the fire,
Chin on his knuckles, eyes immense with thoughts
About enchanted horses, sheathed in gold.. .
Your story ends; the silence bids me speak;
Yet 1 can find no utterance but love's; -

For all my heart is your dominion, now,-~
Even that inmost, Lilliputian town
Whose gates admit no charger but a child's.
-Virginia French

(Munich Script): 13: Century
Floret silva undique,
Heart you will die with Love away.
Green and green, the forest and field;
Where is my nearest one this great while?
He is ridden away, now I confess me-
Alas for woe! who will now caress me?
O you love of any other,
How do I deserve this bother
(Praises to God and praise to you!)
Woman, that you love me so?
Come, come, my playfellow
I tremble for your footfall
I tremble for your footfall
Come, come, my playfellow.
Sweet mouth, color of roses
Come and make me whole again
Come and make me whole again
Sweet mouth, color of roses.
Heavy thoughts keep where you are,
We playfellows want nothing more
Than the wide meaow and the high
Flowers fighting for our eye.
I say to thee, I say to thee,
Sweet familiar come with me.
Dearest love my thought conceives
Gird my brow with little leaves
That a proud man may bear their token
Of one that knows how to serve his women.
-Translated by Irving Weiss
This is no citadel.
This is the glum tower dark against dark.
This is a drouth defying drouth
By filling plenty with pain.
Do not come here.
Do not pass your feet against wet rocks
Or press your parched lips against dry sand.
Seek from these eyes that fill the night no spark
To bright your spark
But cudgel alone in the dim light.
Let fall from your burning lips no words of passion.
Pass on with a dry face into the years.
Forgive and forget-
Forget the rain and the gross streak of black
Defying Night's own blackness-
The tower that held no hostage,
The eyes that proffered no communion.
Purpose unfulfilled-
Creation violated-
Penitant unforgiven ...
Thru my fault
Thru my fault
Thru my fault
Thru my most grievous fault
Pardon, absolution and remission.

Feebly through the Night's long wake
Hear and remember and understand
Forget and remember and pass on
Into the years.
-Dorothy J. Farnan

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