Thou sheen of flow'rs with love alight,
Thou bridal crown, all maids' delight,
Thou art bedight
With heaven's golden splendour!
Thou of all sweetness sweetest shine,
Thou sweeter than the sweetest wine,
The sweetness thine,
Is my salvation ever.
Thou art a potion sweet of love,
Sweetly pervading heaven above,
To sailors rough
Sang syrens sweeter never.
Thou enterest through eye and ear,
Senses and soul pervading,
Thou givest to the heart great cheer,
A guerdon dear,
A glory never fading.
The poet who wrote of Isolde's love potion here calls the Queen of
Heaven a _potion sweet of love_, a strange metaphor to use in connection
with the Mary of dogma. Another characteristic frequently alluded to is
her _sweet perfume_, an attribute which we to-day do not look upon as
exclusively celestial.
Quaintly delicate and tender are the love-songs of Brother Hans, an
otherwise unknown monk of the fourteenth century.
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