Her fair salute, her mild command
Softly inclining, make May rain drop down into my heart.
Heinrich von Rugge laments winter:
The dear nightingale too has forgotten how beautifully she sang ... the birds are mourning everywhere.
and longs for summer:
I always craved blissful days.... I liked to hear the little birds' delightful songs. Winter cannot but be hard and immeasurably long. I should be glad if it would pass away.
Heinrich von Morungen:
How did you get into my heart?
It must ever be the same with me.
As the noon receives her light from the sun,