Why Should I Wander Sadly?

WHY should I wander sadly,

My harp within my hand,

O’er mountain, hill, and valley?

What praise do I command?

Full well they know the singer

Belongs to race accursed;

Sweet Minne doth no longer

Reward me as at first.

Be silent, then, my lyre,

We sing ’fore lords in vain,

I’ll leave the minstrels’ choir,

And roam a Jew again.

My staff and hat I’ll grasp, then,

And on my breast full low,

By Jewish custom olden

My grizzled beard shall grow.

My days I’ll pass in quiet,—

Those left to me on earth—

Nor sing for those who not yet

Have learned a poet’s worth.