The Wound of Love! by Heinrich Von Morungen

She has wounded me

in my innermost soul,

within the mortal core,

when I told her

that I was raving and anguished

in desire for her glorious lips,

to commend me to her service,

and to steal me

a tender kiss of hers,

that I might for ever be well.

How I began to hate

her rose-red lips,

which I never yet forgot!

It troubles me still,

that they once refused me

with such vehemence.

Thus I have grown so weak

that I would far rather—alive—

burn in the abyss

of hell than serve her still,

not knowing to what end.