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December 18, 2006
her anguish was his pain: his pain her anguish
Now when the maid and the man, Isolde and Tristan, had drunk the drought, in an instant that arch-disturber of tranquility was there, Love, waylayer of all hearts, and she had stolen in! Before they were aware of it she had planted her victorious standard in their two hearts and bowed them beneath her yoke. They were two and divided now become one and united. No longer were they at variance: Isolde's hatred was gone. Love, the reconciler, had purged their hearts of enmity, and so joined them in affection that each was to the other as limpid mirror. They shared a single heart. Her anguish was his pain: his pain her anguish. The two were one both in joy and sorrow.
Gottfried von Strassburg - Tristan
Posted by amin at December 18, 2006 6:28 PM