Harder than any diamond,
Or lodestone of any sort,
Is your hardness,
My lady, you who have no pity
On the man who loves you,
Whom you kill even as he desires
Your affection.
My lady, your pure beauty,
Surpassing that of all others, so I think,
And your appearance,
Demure, full of reserve,
Graced with sweetness
As you smile
Such a beckoning welcome,
Have so grievously wounded me
Right to the heart as I gazed upon you
That never will joy be mine
Until that time
You will have bestowed upon me
That favour it is waiting for.
Harder than any diamond,
Or lodestone of any sort,
Is your hardness,
My lady, you who have no pity
On the man who loves you,
Whom you kill even as he desires
Your affection.
I have humbly endured
The ills of love, and borne them,
While waiting on
Your good intention,
Which I have in every case found
Harsh and painful,
And since I find myself completely
Under your command I wonder how
Your goodness
Has refused to bestow your favor on me
When, weeping,
And sighing, I have sought out
Mercy from you.
Harder than any diamond,
Or lodestone of any sort,
Is your hardness,
My lady, you who have no pity
On the man who loves you,
Whom you kill even as he desires
Your affection.
Alas, my lady, you have not
Comforted me in my misery,
Not ever, not in the least.
Instead, you’ve so distressed me
I hate distress of every kind.
But nevertheless
I’ll keep loving from this moment on
Much more deeply than ever, and when
Death and ruin
Have come to me from your cruelty,
Which is much too great,
Then will be made quite manifest
My faithfulness.
Harder than any diamond,
Or lodestone of any sort,
Is your hardness,
My lady, you who have no pity
On the man who loves you,
Whom you kill even as he desires
Your affection.
English: R Barton Palmer © 2016