by walther von der vogelweide (1170–1230).
under der linden an der heide, dâ unser zweier bette was, dâ muget ir vinden schône beide gebrochen bluomen unde gras. vor dem walde in einem tal, tandaradei, schône sanc diu nahtegal. ich kam gegangen zuo der ouwe: dô was mîn friedel komen ê. dâ wart ich empfangen hêre frouwe daz ich bin sælic iemer mê. kust er mich? wol tûsentstunt: tandaradei, seht wie rôt mir ist der munt. dô hete er gemachet alsô rîche von bluomen eine bettestat. des wirt noch gelachet inneclîche, kumt iemen an daz selbe pfat. bî den rôsen er wol mac tandaradei, merken wâ mirz houbet lac. daz er bî mir læge, wesse ez iemen (nu enwelle got!), so schamte ich mich. wes er mit mir pflæge, niemer niemen bevinde daz wan er und ich und ein kleinez vogellîn: tandaradei, daz mac wol getriuwe sîn.
translation by raymond oliver.
under the lime tree on the heather, where we had shared a place of rest, still you may find there, lovely together, flowers crushed and grass down-pressed. beside the forest in the vale, tándaradéi, sweetly sang the nightingale. i came to meet him at the green: there was my truelove come before. such was i greeted — heaven's queen! — that i am glad for evermore. had he kisses? a thousand some: tándaradéi, see how red my mouth's become. there he had fashioned for luxury a bed from every kind of flower. it sets to laughing delightedly whoever comes upon that bower; by the roses well one may, tándaradéi, mark the spot my head once lay. if any knew he lay with me (may god forbid!), for shame i'd die. what did he do? may none but he ever be sure of that — and i, and one tiny bird, tándaradéi, who will, i think, not say a word.