|
I |
1 |
When the fountain’s flow |
|
|
|
Shines brilliantly as usual, |
|
|
|
And the wild rose appears, |
|
|
|
And the little nightingale on the branch |
|
|
5 |
Varies, changes, smooths out |
|
|
|
And perfects his sweet song, |
|
|
|
It is right that I should rehearse mine. |
|
|
|
|
|
II |
|
Love from a distant land, |
|
|
|
For you my whole self aches; |
|
|
10 |
And I can find no remedy |
|
|
|
Unless I go at her call, |
|
|
|
With the lure of sweet love, |
|
|
|
In a garden or beneath a curtain |
|
|
|
With a desired companion. |
|
|
|
|
|
III |
15 |
Since I get no relief at all, |
|
|
|
I am not surprised if I am aflame, |
|
|
|
For there was never a nobler Christian woman, |
|
|
|
A Jewess or a Saracen, |
|
|
|
For God does not wish that there be; |
|
|
20 |
And whoever gains any of her love |
|
|
|
Is well fed with manna. |
|
|
|
|
|
IV |
|
I do not cease desiring |
|
|
|
Her whom I love most, |
|
|
|
And I think my will deceives me |
|
|
25 |
If lust takes her away from me; |
|
|
|
And the pain which is relieved by enjoyment |
|
|
|
Is more piercing than a thorn, |
|
|
|
And I want no one to pity me for it. |
|
|
|
|
|
V |
|
Without a parchment letter |
|
|
30 |
I send the song which we sing |
|
|
|
Plainly and in Romance tongue |
|
|
|
To Lord Hugh the Swarthy, by Godson; |
|
|
|
And I am glad that the Poitevins, |
|
|
|
The men of Berry, the men of Guyenne, |
|
|
35 |
And the Bretons rejoice for him. |
