No More Learning

If of her beauty present

Her clear face and sweet eyes,

I'd seen that merest content,

I'd still feel this surprise.

Deceit's not my intent,

For I've naught to realise;

Yet why should I repent,

For once she said, with sighs,

'On the true man love relies,

While the weak twig is bent'.

Women it seems to me

Make a great mistake,

By which true love is rarely

Returned for true love's sake.

I ought to speak out freely

With words though that will take,

For it can scarcely please me

When the tricksters rake

More love in than is at stake

For the lover who loves truly.

Lady what will you do

With me who loves you so?

Would you treat me so ill I too

Die of longing? Oh,

Good and noble, you,

Your face should sweeter show,

Light my heart through and through!

Great pain I suffer and woe,

Yet merit no hurt, ah no,

For I can't turn from you.

If there were none to annoy,

No vile slanderer, or thief,

Then love I might employ

But they cast it in my teeth:

It's human to care and not be coy,

On occasion, and seek relief,

But it's privately my belief

Pain has no other alloy

Than 'Good luck lives in joy,

And bad luck lives in grief. '

I am not one to disdain

The good that God may do,

For in that week, the very same

That I came away, it's true,

She said clearly, saying my name,

That my songs please her too.

Would all Christians plain

Could have such joy anew,

As I felt, and feel all through,

For all else but this is vain.

I'll believe her again

If she assures me it's true;

But if it's not, I'll disdain

To trust her, and you, and you.

Can la verz folha s'espan

When the greenery unfolds

And the branch is white with flower,

With sweet birdsong in that hour

My heart gently onward goes.

When I see the blossoming trees

And hear the nightingale in song,

Then how can a man go wrong,

Who chooses loving and is pleased.

For I have one I've chosen

Who gives me strength and joy.
And if all the world now holds -

All those under heaven's power,

Were gathered in some sweet bower,

I'd only wish for one I know.

Only she my heart can please,

Who makes me sigh all day long,

So at night my sleep is gone,

Not that I desire to sleep.

She, the slender dainty one,

True heart, does true speech employ.

If I were brought to her stronghold,

Prisoned by her in some tower,

And daily ate my morsel sour,

Happily I'd there grow old,

If my desire she granted me!

She should try to do no wrong:

If she made me yearn too long,

Neither life nor death I'd see:

Life for me as good as done,

While there with death I'd sadly toy.

Pel doutz chan que? l rossinhols fai

To the sweet song of the nightingale,

At night when I am half-asleep,

I wake possessed by joy complete,

Contemplating love and thinking;

For this is my greatest need, to be

Forever filled with joy and sweetly,

And in joy begin my singing.

Who seeks to know the joy I feel,

If such joy were heard and seen,

All other joy but slight would seem

Compared with mine: vast in its being.

Others preen and chatter wildly,

Claim to be blessed, rich and nobly,

With 'true love': I've twice the thing!

When I admire her body hale

Well-formed, in all respects I mean,

Her courtesy and her sweet speech,

For all my praise I yet gain nothing;

Though I took a year completely

I could not paint her truthfully

So courtly is she, of sweet forming.

You who think that I can't fail,

Not realising her spirit keen

Is open and is friendly, even

Yet her body is far from being,

Know, the best messenger I see

From her is my own reverie,

That recalls her fairest seeming.

Lady, I'm yours, today, every day,

In your service my self I'll keep,

Sworn, and pledged to you complete,

As I have been always in everything.

And as you are first of joys to me,

So the last joy too you will be,

As long as I'm still living.

I know not when I'll see you again;

But I am grieved and sad to leave.

For you I spurned (don't now harm me,

I beg of you) the court and king,

Now I will serve you there entirely,

Among the knights, among the ladies,

All sweet, true, and humble beings.

Huguet, my messenger, go, kindly

Sing my song and sing it freely,

To the Norman Queen go warbling.