I love you better, were that possible;
Will make you a true wife, and lead your hand,
Or be led by you, in the pleasant path.
For me, I enter not—Blesséd be God!—
In those dark problems that disturb your soul.
Mine is the simple nature. Look at me!
Tannhäuser.
O Lady pure, miracle of true love,
I have a bitter word and harsh to say.
This is my curse—no sooner do I speak,