In his _Life_ there is a
passage unsurpassed by the best of the minnesingers: "In the golden
summer-time when all the tender little flowers had opened their buds, he
gathered none until he had dedicated the first blossoms to his spiritual
love, the gentle, flower-like, rosy maiden and Mother of God; when it
seemed to him that the time had come, he culled the flowers with many
loving thoughts, carried them into his cell and wove them into a
garland; and after he had done so, he went into the choir, or into Our
Lady's Chapel, prostrated himself before his dear lady, and placed the
sweet garland on her head, hoping that she would not scorn her servant's
offering, as she was the most wondrous flower herself, and the
summer-joy of his heart."
Doubtless we here have an analogy to the religious feeling of the
mystics. The metaphysical lover is still under the impression that he is
worshipping the Mary of the Catholic Church; but as in the case of the
mystic the Christ of dogma is transformed into the divine spark in his
own soul, so the love of Mary has become undogmatic and pure
woman-worship, the ideal of the great lovers of that age.
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