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Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
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La doce pensee Ki me vient d’Amors M’est el cuer entree Tos jors, sans retor; Tant l’ai desiree, La doce dolor, Ke riens ki soit nee Ne m’a tel savor.
Doce dame, ainc ne vos dis nul jor Ma grant dolor, ains l’ai tos jors celee. Mort m’ont mi oel, ki m’ont mis en esror Dont la paine n’ert ja jor achievee; Je lor pardoins, car tant m’ont fait d’onor Ke la millor del mont en ai amee.
Qui voit sa crine bloie Ki samble ke soit d’or, Et son col ki blançoie Deseur som bel chief sor! C’est ma dame, ma joie, Et mon rice tresor; Certes, je ne vauroie Sans li valoir Hector.
De si belle dame amer Ne se porroit nus desfendre; Puis k’Amors m’i fait penser El m’i devroit bien aprendre Coment porroie achiever Puis k’aillors ne puis entendre. Se je li disoie Ke s’amors fust moie, Grant orguell feroie Nis se le pensoie.
Ains sosferrai mon martire, Ja ne savra mon pensé Se par pitié ne remire Les maus [que me fait porter]; Car tant redoc l’escondire De sa tres grant volenté; Tel cose porroie dire Dont el me saroit mal gré.
La ou Diex a assamblé Pris et valor et bonté, T’en va, descors, sans plus dire, Fors itant, pour l’amor Dé, C’om puet bien par toi eslire Ke je ne chant fors por lé Dont Diex me doinst estre amé.
Gautier de Dargies (c1165-after 1236)
For ever, without renunciation, the sweet thought which comes to me from Love has entered my heart; I have desired it so much, the sweet suffering, that no creature born has such a delight for me.
Sweet lady, I have never told you my great pain, but rather I have always concealed it. My eyes have killed me, for they have put me into a state of perplexity which brings a pain that can never end; I forgive them, for it is a great honour to me that I have fallen in love with the best in the world.
If you could but see her blonde hair which looks like gold, and her white neck underneath her radiant head! That is my lady, my joy and my rich treasure; certainly, without her I would not wish to be as brave as Hector.
No man can guard himself against loving such a beautiful lady; since Love makes me think of it, Love should teach me well how I may attain it, since I have no other aim. It would be overweeningly proud of me if I asked her to grant me her love, or even thought of doing so.
But instead I shall endure my suffering, for she will never know my thought unless she looks compassionately upon the ills which she makes me bear; for I greatly fear that her exalted wish may go against me; I might say something which she would hold against me.
Betake yourself, descort, to where God has assembled valour, worth and virtue, without saying any more save that, for the love of God, one may well discern through you that I sing for none except her, by whom God grant I be loved.