Can l’erba fresch’elh folha par
e la flors boton’el verjan
el rossinhols autet e clar
leva sa votz e mou so chan,
joi ai de lui, e joi ai de la flor,
e joi de me, e de midons major.
Daus totas partz sui de joi claus e sens,
mas sel es jois que totz autres jois vens.

Tan am midons e la tenh car,
e tan la dopt’e la reblan
c’anc de me nolh auzei parlar,
ni re nolh quer ni re nolh man.
Pero ilh sap mo mal e ma dolor,
e can li plai, mi fai ben et onor,
e can li plai, eu m’en sofert ab mens,
per so c’a leis non avenha blastens.

Meravilh me com posc durar
que nolh demostre mo talan.
Can eu vei midons ni l’esgar,
li seu bel olh tan bel’ estan:
per pauc me tenh car eu vas leis no cor.
Si feira eu, si no fos per paor,
c’anc no vi cors melhs talhatz ni depens
ad ops d’amar sia tan greus ni lens.

Ai las! com mor de cossirar,
que manhtas vetz en cossir tan:
lairo m’en poirian portar,
que re no sabria ques fan.
Per Deu, Amors! bem trobas vensedor:
ab paucs d’amics e ses autre senhor.
Car una vetz tan midons no destrens
abans qu’eu fos del dezirer estens?

Be la volgra sola trobar,
que dormis, on fezes semblan,
per qu’elh embles un doutz baizar,
pus no valh tan qu’eu lolh deman.
Per Deu, domna, pauc esplecham d’amor!
vai, s’en lo tems, e perdem lo melhor!
parlar degram ab cubertz entresens,
e, pus nons val arditz, valgues nos gens!

Messatger, vai, e no m’en prezes mens,
s’eu del anar vas midons sui temens.

When the fresh grass and the foliage appear
and the flowers break out on the bough,
the nightingale raises his voice
and begins his song, high and clear;
I am joyful because of him, and I am joyful because of the flowers,
and because of myself, and more so because of my lady.
I am encircled and surrounded by happiness on all sides,
but this is the joy that conquers all others.

I love my lady so much, and hold her so dear,
and so much fear her and serve her,
that I never dare speak to her about me,
nor do I ask anything of her, nor send her anything.
But she knows of my pain and grief,
and when it pleases her, she treats me well and honours me,
and when it pleases her, I am content with less
so that she doesn’t need to use reproaches.

I marvel at how I can endure
without revealing to her my desire.
When I see and look at my lady,
her beautiful eyes are so lovely
[that] I almost run towards her.
I would do this if it weren’t for fear,
for I never saw a body better formed and proportioned
that was so reluctant and slow to the demands of love.

Alas! How I die of sorrow.
I think about her so deeply
that thieves could carry me off
and I wouldn’t know anything about it.
By God, Love! You find me defenceless:
without friends and without another master.
Why don’t you, just for once, exert influence over my lady,
before I am consumed utterly by desire?

I would like to find her alone,
sleeping, or pretending to sleep,
so that I could steal a sweet kiss from her,
for I am not worth enough to request it of her.
By God, Lady, how little we are taking advantage of love!
Time is passing and we are missing the best bit!
We would have to speak with covert signals,
and since we lack boldness, may our astuteness make up for it.

Messenger, go, and don’t think less of me
if I am afraid to go to my lady.

Can l’erba fresch’elh folha par
e la flors boton’el verjan
el rossinhols autet e clar
leva sa votz e mou so chan,
joi ai de lui, e joi ai de la flor,
e joi de me, e de midons major.
Daus totas partz sui de joi claus e sens,
mas sel es jois que totz autres jois vens.

Tan am midons e la tenh car,
e tan la dopt’e la reblan
c’anc de me nolh auzei parlar,
ni re nolh quer ni re nolh man.
Pero ilh sap mo mal e ma dolor,
e can li plai, mi fai ben et onor,
e can li plai, eu m’en sofert ab mens,
per so c’a leis non avenha blastens.

Meravilh me com posc durar
que nolh demostre mo talan.
Can eu vei midons ni l’esgar,
li seu bel olh tan bel’ estan:
per pauc me tenh car eu vas leis no cor.
Si feira eu, si no fos per paor,
c’anc no vi cors melhs talhatz ni depens
ad ops d’amar sia tan greus ni lens.

Ai las! com mor de cossirar,
que manhtas vetz en cossir tan:
lairo m’en poirian portar,
que re no sabria ques fan.
Per Deu, Amors! bem trobas vensedor:
ab paucs d’amics e ses autre senhor.
Car una vetz tan midons no destrens
abans qu’eu fos del dezirer estens?

Be la volgra sola trobar,
que dormis, on fezes semblan,
per qu’elh embles un doutz baizar,
pus no valh tan qu’eu lolh deman.
Per Deu, domna, pauc esplecham d’amor!
vai, s’en lo tems, e perdem lo melhor!
parlar degram ab cubertz entresens,
e, pus nons val arditz, valgues nos gens!

Messatger, vai, e no m’en prezes mens,
s’eu del anar vas midons sui temens.

When the fresh grass and the foliage appear
and the flowers break out on the bough,
the nightingale raises his voice
and begins his song, high and clear;
I am joyful because of him, and I am joyful because of the flowers,
and because of myself, and more so because of my lady.
I am encircled and surrounded by happiness on all sides,
but this is the joy that conquers all others.

I love my lady so much, and hold her so dear,
and so much fear her and serve her,
that I never dare speak to her about me,
nor do I ask anything of her, nor send her anything.
But she knows of my pain and grief,
and when it pleases her, she treats me well and honours me,
and when it pleases her, I am content with less
so that she doesn’t need to use reproaches.

I marvel at how I can endure
without revealing to her my desire.
When I see and look at my lady,
her beautiful eyes are so lovely
[that] I almost run towards her.
I would do this if it weren’t for fear,
for I never saw a body better formed and proportioned
that was so reluctant and slow to the demands of love.

Alas! How I die of sorrow.
I think about her so deeply
that thieves could carry me off
and I wouldn’t know anything about it.
By God, Love! You find me defenceless:
without friends and without another master.
Why don’t you, just for once, exert influence over my lady,
before I am consumed utterly by desire?

I would like to find her alone,
sleeping, or pretending to sleep,
so that I could steal a sweet kiss from her,
for I am not worth enough to request it of her.
By God, Lady, how little we are taking advantage of love!
Time is passing and we are missing the best bit!
We would have to speak with covert signals,
and since we lack boldness, may our astuteness make up for it.

Messenger, go, and don’t think less of me
if I am afraid to go to my lady.

Can l’erba fresch’elh folha par
e la flors boton’el verjan
el rossinhols autet e clar
leva sa votz e mou so chan,
joi ai de lui, e joi ai de la flor,
e joi de me, e de midons major.
Daus totas partz sui de joi claus e sens,
mas sel es jois que totz autres jois vens.

Tan am midons e la tenh car,
e tan la dopt’e la reblan
c’anc de me nolh auzei parlar,
ni re nolh quer ni re nolh man.
Pero ilh sap mo mal e ma dolor,
e can li plai, mi fai ben et onor,
e can li plai, eu m’en sofert ab mens,
per so c’a leis non avenha blastens.

Meravilh me com posc durar
que nolh demostre mo talan.
Can eu vei midons ni l’esgar,
li seu bel olh tan bel’ estan:
per pauc me tenh car eu vas leis no cor.
Si feira eu, si no fos per paor,
c’anc no vi cors melhs talhatz ni depens
ad ops d’amar sia tan greus ni lens.

Ai las! com mor de cossirar,
que manhtas vetz en cossir tan:
lairo m’en poirian portar,
que re no sabria ques fan.
Per Deu, Amors! bem trobas vensedor:
ab paucs d’amics e ses autre senhor.
Car una vetz tan midons no destrens
abans qu’eu fos del dezirer estens?

Be la volgra sola trobar,
que dormis, on fezes semblan,
per qu’elh embles un doutz baizar,
pus no valh tan qu’eu lolh deman.
Per Deu, domna, pauc esplecham d’amor!
vai, s’en lo tems, e perdem lo melhor!
parlar degram ab cubertz entresens,
e, pus nons val arditz, valgues nos gens!

Messatger, vai, e no m’en prezes mens,
s’eu del anar vas midons sui temens.

When the fresh grass and the foliage appear
and the flowers break out on the bough,
the nightingale raises his voice
and begins his song, high and clear;
I am joyful because of him, and I am joyful because of the flowers,
and because of myself, and more so because of my lady.
I am encircled and surrounded by happiness on all sides,
but this is the joy that conquers all others.

I love my lady so much, and hold her so dear,
and so much fear her and serve her,
that I never dare speak to her about me,
nor do I ask anything of her, nor send her anything.
But she knows of my pain and grief,
and when it pleases her, she treats me well and honours me,
and when it pleases her, I am content with less
so that she doesn’t need to use reproaches.

I marvel at how I can endure
without revealing to her my desire.
When I see and look at my lady,
her beautiful eyes are so lovely
[that] I almost run towards her.
I would do this if it weren’t for fear,
for I never saw a body better formed and proportioned
that was so reluctant and slow to the demands of love.

Alas! How I die of sorrow.
I think about her so deeply
that thieves could carry me off
and I wouldn’t know anything about it.
By God, Love! You find me defenceless:
without friends and without another master.
Why don’t you, just for once, exert influence over my lady,
before I am consumed utterly by desire?

I would like to find her alone,
sleeping, or pretending to sleep,
so that I could steal a sweet kiss from her,
for I am not worth enough to request it of her.
By God, Lady, how little we are taking advantage of love!
Time is passing and we are missing the best bit!
We would have to speak with covert signals,
and since we lack boldness, may our astuteness make up for it.

Messenger, go, and don’t think less of me
if I am afraid to go to my lady.