No More Learning

And ah, God of Amour!

Now you bring joy, and now dolour.

Ah, sweet breeze, from there, true, you sigh,

Where my love joys, sleeps, and suspires.

A sip of his sweet breath for me, send by.

My lips are parted, so deep my desires.

And ah, God of Amour!

Now you bring joy, and now dolour.

False love he makes, slave of a far country,

Now laughter and jests turn to misery.

I'd not dreamed my friend would ask of me

That I grant him such love as he did seek.

And ah, God of Amour!

Now you bring joy, and now dolour.

Gaita be, gaiteta del chastel

Keep a watch, watchman there, on the wall,

While the best, loveliest of them all

I have with me until the dawn.

For the day comes without our call,

New joys all,

Lost to the dawn,

The dawn, oh, the dawn!

Watch, friend, watch there, and call and cry,

I'm rich indeed, all I wish have I.

But now I'm vexed by the dawn,

And the sorrows, that day brings nigh,

Make me sigh,

More than the dawn

The dawn, oh, the dawn!
Keep a watch, watchman there, on the tower,

For your lord: jealously he holds power,

He's more vexing than the dawn:

While words of love we speak here.

But our fear

Comes with the dawn,

The dawn, oh, the dawn!

Lady, adieu! No longer dare I stay;

Despite my wish, I must be away.

Yet heavily weighs the dawn,

How soon we'll see the day;

To betray

Us, wills the dawn,

The dawn, oh, the dawn!

Kalenda maia

Calends of May

Nor leafy spray

Nor songs of birds, nor flowers gay

Please me today

My Lady, nay,

Lest there's a fine message I pray

From your loveliness, to relay

The pleasures new love and joy may

Display

And I'll play

For you, true lady, I say,

And lay

By the way

The jealous ones, ere I go away.

My belle amie

Let it not be

That any man scorns me from jealousy,

He'd pay me,

Dearly indeed

If lovers were parted by such as he;

Never would I live happily,

No happiness without you I see;

I'd flee

Run free

No man would find me readily;

An end

Of me,

Fine Lady, were you lost utterly.

How could I lose her

Replace her ever

Any fine Lady, before I had her?

No beloved or lover

Is just a dreamer;

When he's a lover, no more a suitor,

He has accrued a signal honour,

A sweet glance produces such colours;

Yet I here

Have never

Held you naked, nor any other;

Longed for,

Lived for,

You without pay, I have though, forever.

I'd be sadder

Should we part ever,

Sorrowful, my Beautiful Warrior,

For my heart never

Seems to deliver

Me from desire

Nor slakes it further;

Gives pleasure only to the slanderer

He, my lady, who finds no other

Joy, the man there

Who'd feel my utter

Loss, and thanks would offer,

And consider

Insolent starer

You, the one from whom I suffer.

Flowers so kindly,

Over all brightly,

Noble Beatrice, and grows so sweetly

Your Honour to me;

For as I see,

Value adorns your sovereignty,

And, to be sure, the sweetest speech;

Of gracious deeds you are the seed;

Verity,

Mercy,

You have: and great learning truly;

Bravery

Plainly,

Decked, with your generosity.

Lady so graced,

All acclaimed and have praised

Your worth with pleasure freighted;

Who forgets, instead,

May as well be dead,

I adore, you, the ever-exalted;

Since you have the kindest head,

And are best, and the worthiest bred,

I've flattered

I've served

More truly than Erec Enida.

Words are fled,

All is said,

Sweet Engles - my estampida.

Notes: The Calends, Latin Kalendae, corresponded to the first days of each month of the Roman calendar, signifying the start of the new moon cycle. The troubadours' spring celebrations of kalenda maia and their courtly worship of 'the lady' probably drew on remnants of pre-Christian worship. Pound mentions Kalenda Maya in Canto CXIII.