If I’ve been somewhat quiet,
I can no longer be,
Being captured and held,
And shot through the heart
With two bolts right in one spot
By a pair of eyes,
Grey-green, piercing, charming, and striking,
Smiling and gay.

For my lady—may God save her!—
Through her sweet smiling look
Made one dart of burning Desire
And one of Hope.
But Desire, and there is no doubt,
Would have killed me with no warning
Had not Hope, in whom my trust is placed,
Been on my side.

For when I felt the glow
Of the look that burns my heart,
I lost not just a third or fourth
Of my wit and composure,
But all demeanour and power.
Then Hope made me take pleasure
In my sweet suffering
Through her skill.

But I am so completely dismayed,
Because I don’t know
If this lover’s wound
That’s in my heart
Comes from Love or a heart that’s true.
For Sweet Look wounds many a heart
When the lady has some other lover who pleases.
And I’ll die
Should this be so; but with a true love
I will love her.

I’ll never have the will
To draw back
Because of the pain that tries my heart.
Rather I’ll remain
True, serving from the heart
My pleasant and gay lady.
And when my days end,
At once,
My heart, wounded by her love,
I’ll bequeath to her.

I didn’t know
When captured
If I was
Dead or alive.
Nor did I hear
Game or laughter,
But seemed
A man struck dumb.
I did not seek
Paradise
Or other joy,
Or other worthiness.
Nor did I feel
Anything while
Looking upon
Her shining face,
Which set me aflame with love for her.

However
I found again
That quiet woman
My presence of mind;
To her I prayed
Like a subject
That she’d hear me.
I’d never
Be healed
If ever
She refused me.
I must
Forever be
Her friend;
Now may she be mine.
I’ll say
No more and be satisfied.

I know not if I sleep or wake
When her smiling eye,
Her noble form without rival,
And her sweet welcome
I look upon, her beautiful appearance too,
Simple without ostentation,
And her face, paler and rosier
Than a leaf from the woods,
Which counsels me to love,
From which I receive many pleasant pains.

Her golden hair is like the sun,
And the spot between her eyes is pretty;
For this reason I’d seek or wish
No other counsel.
Rather I make ready
To do her bidding
And be vigilant in her service.
For from her I receive such goodness
I am amazed and cross myself
Because all ills I cast aside.

Is it not good to love such a lady,
Desiring,
Honouring her
In whom a man
Can find no bitterness,
Only a pure sweetness to savour?
A very noble destiny
Awaits the man who can obtain this
Forever,
For she has no equal,
Is instead unrivalled;
Doubtless
There’s none better to be seen,
No other woman this well born.

And so I ought to guard well her honour
And without ceasing
Resolve
To bear her
Faith without disloyalty,
Devoting to her without impure thought
All my powers of mind.
Indeed I’d rather be across the sea
And not return
Than neglect
Her sweet, shining face,
Or entertain
Some thought that might harm
Her good reputation.

Surely I feel such great pleasure
When I look upon her noble person,
And when with no hint of scandal,
I hear that every man exerts
Himself to esteem her highly
Above all other women;
And so I have no gloomy thoughts,
No sadness, ills, or pain,
Nothing that troubles me;
Instead mine’s a pleasure
So very sweet, so very pure
That it merits the greatest thanks:

That in seeing her I find joy;
That serving her I am comforted;
That from loving her I take consolation
And hope that aids me mightily
Against desire, who stings me
(Yet I value as nothing his bite).
And if it’s said the lady’s hard on me
Or cares nothing for me,
I’m not concerned because I take
Such sweet nourishment from her!
I don’t fear anything I endure,
Neither lovesickness nor pain.

And since I can live this way
So happily and free from care
It would be great folly
To ask for her love
Or favour,
For I haven’t deserved
So great an honour
And am not worthy
In the least.

She’d tell me at once: ‘Get out!’
Alas, if I had heard this
From that sweet one
The joy would turn to tears
In this heart of mine
Since it would break in half.
So I remain
In anguish and fear,
Subjected to her.

All my pleasures lie in her.
To her I give myself.
To her I will gladly
Bear faith.
With her I want lovingly
To live and die.
To her I am drawn.
In her are my desires;
With her I spend myself.
In her dwells all my heart,
Entirely,
Sweetly,
Humbly
To serve her.

I cannot refrain from loving
When I look upon
The pleasant demeanour
Of her noble person,
Whose liege I am,
Without denial,
Without departing,
Without repenting.
This I must do,
Receiving a hundred thousand benefits
For every torment.
Otherwise,
Certainly
I’ve nothing to suffer.

And so there’s no way of life
So pleasant
As to desire a loved one
In Hope,
Who corrects
And masters
Desire, who then wields no dominion
Or power.

For Desire destroys
A happy life
When Hope does not soften him,
And so I want,
Whatever anyone might say,
Unceasingly
To enjoy Hope’s company
Morning and night.

For long ago I’d have been dead
Had Hope not been present at the suffering
That came from desire’s arrow,
Which struck my body through the eye
And never will be pulled out
If my love doesn’t do the job
Or good Hope, who before did
Visit me like a sweet physician,
Tenderly comforting
My discomfort. May God look upon her!

Hope is my castle, she’s my fortress.
She beats down my anger.
She’s the possession, she the treasure
That is beyond reproach.
She’s the true haven of my life.
She’s my joy, to tell the truth.
All the silver and all the gold
Of France and the Empire
Are not worth one of her comforts
When Despair launches an assault.

And when I came to the point
Of being a true lover
Well furnished with hope,
Something happy,
Gracious, and full of peace
Fell to my lot,
And never will it be
Beyond my reach.

For had I even more to bear
Than I do,
If I was more than any other man
Held in bondage at every turn,
Still I’d be sustained, healed,
And provided for
Generously, well looked after
By Hope’s good deeds.

English: R Barton Palmer © 2013