No More Learning

Lo tems vai e ven e vire

Time comes, and goes, and runs away,

In days, and months, and so in years;

And I, alas, have naught to say,

For my longing ever one appears.

It's ever one, and never falters,

For I love one, it never alters,

Of whom I've had no happiness.

Since she mocks me every way,

Grief and harm have come to me;

She has sat me down to play

At a game where I lose doubly -

For that love has always died

That's only upheld on one side -

Unless she make peace, I confess.

I should indeed lay the blame

On myself, with all due reason,

For never was born one so lame,

Who serves idly, in every season.

And if she'll not chase folly away

My folly will double, for they say:

A fool fears not till he's in distress.

I will be a singer no more,

Nor be of Lord Eble's school,

For what is all this singing for?

There's no worth in melody's rule;

Whatever I do, whatever I say

I can't make things go my way,

Nor do I dream of any progress.

Though I make a show of joy,

My heart within is full of woe.

Who ever did penance employ

Before he sinned? I tell you though,

The more I beg, the harsher she,

If she's not gentler soon with me,

There'll be a parting I would guess.

Yet it's good that she subjects me

To her whole will utterly,

For if she does wrong, and slowly,

The sooner she'll take pity;

For, or so the scriptures say,

Through good luck, a single day

May a whole century redress.

Lifelong, I'll never leave her,

As long as I'm hale and whole;

The flesh may go hang after

It has parted from the soul;

And though she is never hasty,

She'll get no blame from me,

If she makes amends, I'll bless.

Ah, sweet love, all my desire,

Fine, slim, neat your body stands,

Fresh complexion, subtle fire,

Whom God shaped in his hands!

I'll long for you forever,

No other gives me pleasure.

No other love do I profess.
Sweet and most gracious treasure,

May He who formed you in measure

Grant joy desired, now, in excess!

La douza votz ai auzida

The sweetest voice I have heard,

Of the woodland nightingale,

And into my heart has leapt its word

So that all the weight of care

And the evil blows love deals me,

Are soothed and softened sweetly.

And great good does it do me there,

Another's joy in my travail.

Of base life indeed is the man

Who with joy finds never a place,

Where love is no part of the plan

That drives his heart and his desire;

For all that exists with joy abounds,

Rings out, and with its song resounds:

Park, orchard, meadow, all the choir

Of heath, plain and woodland chase.

Alas for me, whom love forgets,

Who stray from the proper track;

A share of joy would be mine yet,

But sorrow it is that troubles me;

And I can find no place to rest,

For it turns all joy to bitterness.

And never think that I feel lightly,

If some courtesy I seem to lack.

A false and a wicked woman,

Of base birth, a foul traitress,

Betrayed herself and this man,

She cut the very stick that beat her.

Yet whenever she is arraigned

It is the man who gets the blame.

And the latecomer gets more from her,

Than I who have waited longest.

I had served her well and nobly,

Till she showed me a fickle heart;

And since she offers naught to me,

I'm a fool if I serve her more.

Service without recompense -

A Breton's hope has equal sense -

Makes a slave of a noble lord,

By custom and usage, set apart.

God grant him a foul fate

Who repeats men's idle chatter!

For love's joy were my estate

Were it not for the tellers of tales.

A fool treats his mistress cruelly,

I'll pardon her if she'll pardon me,

Liars they are, whom naught avails,

If they made me speak badly of her.

Corona, carry these verses for me

To Narbonne, there, to my lady;

Of perfection her life never fails,

And no man can speak badly of her.

Chantars no pot gaire valer

Singing proves merely valueless

If the song moves not from the heart,

Nor from the heart can song progress,

If it lacks noble love, heart's dream.