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| prosody | miscellaneous |
Canso do'ill mot son plan e prim fas pus era botono'ill vim, e l'aussor sim son de color de maintha flor, e verdeia fuelha, e'ill chan e'ill bralh sono a l'ombralh dels auzels per la bruelha. Pels bruelhs aug lo chan e'l refrim e per qu'om no m'en fassa crim obri e lim motz de valor ab art d'Amor don non ai cor que'm tuelha; ans, si be'm falh, la sec a tralh, on plus vas me s'orguelha. Re no val orguelh d'amador qu'ades trabuca son senhor del luec aussor bas el terralh per tal trebalh que de joi lo despuelha: dreitz es lacrim e ard'e rim se quel d'amor janguelha. Bona dona vas cui azor, ges per erguelh no vau allor, mas per paor del devinalh don jois trassalh fauc semblan que no'us vuelha, qu'anc no'ns jauzim de lur noirim: mal m'es que lor o cuelha. Si ben vauc per tot ab esdalh, mos pessamens lai vos assalh, qu'ieu chan e valh pel joi que'ns fim lai o'ns partim, don soven l'uelh me muelha d'ir e de plor e de dussour, car pro ai d'Amor que'm duelha. Ar ai fam d'amor don badalh e non sec mezura ni talh; sols m'o engualh qu'anc non auzim del temps Caim amador mens acuelha cor trichador ni bauzador; per que mos jois capduelha. Dona qui qu'es destuelha, Arnautz dreg cor lai o'es honor quar vostre pretz capduelha. |
Songs whose words are sweet and easy I write, now that the willows bud, and the highest peaks wear the colours of many flowers, and the leaf is green, and songs, and cries of birds echo in the shadow of the loom. Through the loom I hear the song and refrain and, so that none can blame me, I work and file smooth, skilled lines with the art of Love, from which I have not such a heart to depart; instead, when it spurns me more, I follow its trail, even if it avoids me. Lover's pride is worth nothing; instead, it throws its lord from the highest place down to the ground with such a torment that it strips any joy from him: it is right that he weeps and flares and burns, who Love does mock. Good lady, whom I adore, it's not out of pride I turn elsewhere, but for fear of the curious ones by whom joy is shaken; I pretend I don't want you, since we never enjoyed their delicacies: I don't like to gather for them. Whersoever I go wandering, my thought assails you, because I sing, and have any worth out of the joy we gave each other where we parted, because of that my eye oftens gets wet out of sadness and longing and of sweetness, since I have enough to complain with Love. Now I'm hungry for love, and sigh and I don't follow measure nor rule; it only rewards me that never was heard, from the time of Cain a lover who less than me hosts a false or deceitful heart; for that my joy's at its highest peak. Lady, no matter who sways, Arnaut runs straight where honour is, since your worth keeps it at its highest peak. |