No More Learning

Tollo Phoibee, to our way-fare Make thy laugh our wander-lied; Bid thy 'fulgence bear away care. Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet I
Seeking e'er the new-laid rast-way To the gardens of the sun
I have sung women in three cities But it is all one.
I will sing of the white birds
In the blue waters of heaven,
The clouds that are spray to its sea.
8
? NA AUDIART
"QUE BE-M VOLS MAL"
Any one who has read anything of the troubadours knows well the tale of Bertran of Born and My Lady Maent of Mon- taignac, and knows also the song he made when she would none
her love-lit glance, of Aelis her speech free-running, of the Vicomp- tess of Chales her throat and her two hands, at Roacoart of Anhes her hair golden as Iseult's ; and even in this fashion of Lady Audiart, " although she would that ill come unto him" he sought
and praised the lineaments of the torse. And all this to make ""
Una dompna soiseubuda a borrowed lady or, as the Italians
translated it,
" Una donna ideale. "
thou well dost wish me ill," Audiart, Audiart,
THOUGH
Where thy bodice laces start
As ivy fingers clutching through Its crevices,
Audiart, Audiart, Stately, tall and lovely tender
Who shall render,
Audiart, Audiart, Praises meet unto thy fashion?
Here a word kiss !
Pass I on Unto Lady "Miels-de-Ben,"
Having praised thy girdle's scope, How the stays ply back from it; I breathe no hope
That thou shouldst . . . .
Nay, no whit Bespeak thyself for anything.
Just a word in thy praise, girl, Just for the swirl
9
? Na Thy satins make upon the stair,
Audiart >
\
Cause never a flaw was there Where thy torse and limbs are met: Though thou hate me, read it set
1
In rose and gold.
Or when the minstrel, tale half told, Shall burst to lilting at the phrase
"Audiart, Audiart"
Bertrans, master of his lays, Bertrans of Aultaforte thy praise
Sets forth, and though thou hate me well, Yea, though thou wish me ill,
Audiart, Audiart Thy loveliness is here writ till,
Audiart,
2
Oh, till thou come again.
And being bent and wrinkled, in a form That hath no perfect limning, when the warm Youth dew is cold
Upon thy hands, and thy old soul,
Scorning a new, wry'd casement,
Churlish at seemed misplacement,
Finds the earth as bitter
As now seems it sweet,
Being so young and fair
As then only in dreams
Being then young and wry'd,
Broken of ancient pride,
Thou shalt then soften,
1 7. e. in illumed manuscript. IO
2 Reincarnate.
? Knowing I know not how Na
Audiart
Thou wert once she,
For whose fairness one forgave, Que be-m vols mal.
VILLONAUD FOR THIS YULE HTOWARDS the Noel that morte saison
-L (Christ make the shepherds' homage dear! ) Then when the grey wolves everychone Drink of the winds their chill small-beer And lap o' the snows food's gueredon,
Then maketh my heart his yule-tide cheer (Skoal ! with the dregs if the clear be gone ! ) Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
Ask ye what ghosts I dream upon? (What of the magians' scented gear? )
The ghosts of dead loves everyone
That make the stark winds reek with fear
Lest love return with the foison sun And slay the memories that me cheer (Such as I drink to mine fashion) Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
Where are the joys my heart had won? (Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!