Blazon: French for “coat-of-arms” or “shield.” A literary blazon (or blason) catalogues the physical attributes of a subject, usually female. The device was made popular by Petrarch and used extensively by Elizabethan poets. Spenser’s “Epithalamion” includes examples of blazon: “Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, / Her forehead ivory white …” Blazon compares parts of the female body to jewels, celestial bodies, natural phenomenon, and other beautiful or rare objects. See for example Thomas Campion’s “There Is a Garden in Her Face.” Contreblazon inverts the convention, describing “wrong” parts of the female body or negating them completely as in Shakespeare’s famous sonnet “My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun.” For a contemporary example, see “My Boyfriend” by Camille Guthrie.
source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/blazon
Franz Schubert - Heidenröslein (Sheet music and lyrics)
"Heidenröslein" or "Heideröslein" ("Rose on the Heath" or "Little Rose of the Field") is a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, published in 1799. It was written in 1771 during Goethe's stay in Strasbourg when he was in love with Friederike Brion, to whom the poem is addressed.
It has been set to music by a number of composers, most notably in 1815 by Franz Schubert as his D. 257. Schubert's setting is partially based on Pamina's and Papageno's duet "Könnte jeder brave Mann" from the end of act 1 of Mozart's The Magic Flute.
Soprano: Arleen Auger
source: Dottore ', https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCuBr27erbQXLDe1BJ2JYxXQ
The Rose-Bush on The Moor, Goethe
A lad he saw a rose-bush growing,
Rose-bush on the moor,
Young and lovely as the morning,
Quick he ran to see it glowing,
With delight he saw.
Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red,
Rose-bush on the moor.
Said the lad: I’ll pick your bloom,
Rose-bush on the moor!
Said the rose: ‘Ah, I’ll prick you,
So you will remember true,
I’ll let you do no more.
Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red,
Rose-bush on the moor.
Then her bloom the cruel lad picked,
The rose-bush on the moor:
To protect herself she pricked,
Cried, sighed, in vain, but quickly
Could defend no more.
Rose-bush, rose-bush, rose-bush red,
Rose-bush on the moor.
SONNET 99, Shakespeare
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
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