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| prosody | miscellaneous |
Lanquan lo temps renovelha e par la flors albespina, ai talant d'un chant novelh qu'ieu sai cum lo chans refri ........................ ........................; doussament per miey la bruelha lo rossinhol s'esbaudeya. E quand lo bosc reverdeya, nays fresca e vertz la fuelha, adoncas ieu reverdey de joy e florisc cum suelh, ab lo dous chan del mati que fan d'amor li auzelh ........................; jauzens somon a l'aurelha. E pus l'us l'autre s'enselha e'l par ves sa par s'aizina, de nos es dregz que s'enselh quascus d'atretal aizi, ab fin'amor, ses erguelh. Qu'ieu conosc assatz e vey, pus la malvestatz s'orguelha, qu'amor non deu far enveya. Joys ab amar cabaleya e's veston d'una despuelha, e cui que desabaley, d'escassedat mi despuelh; amors si senh ab joy fi e joys fa d'amor capdelh, e malvestat que no fina, bayssa prez e'l descapdelha. Cortezament assembelha amors vera e s'afina, que de joy fa son sembelh, per qu'ieu plus ves lieys acli: e malvestatz dezacuelh pretz que no sap on s'estey. Per qu'ieu laus jovens acuelha amors e ab lieys esteya. Sobre'ls melhors senhoreya mos chans en qual guiza'm vuelha, e'ls motz laissans senhorey e'ls say dir aissi cum vuelh. E vec vos del vers la fi qu'En Grimoartz vos espelh: qu'ab joy lo las' e l'afina si's qui bel chant ni l'espelha. |
When the season renews itself and the hawthorn flower appears I feel like a new song because I know what music sounds like ........................ ........................; sweetly, amid foliage the nightingale feasts. And when the wood turns green, the leaf is born, fresh and green I am renewed as well through joy, and bloom, as is my habit, with the sweet music of the morning which the birds intone out of love. ........................; joyous summon to the ear. And as they straddle one another and each treads his mate, it is right that we straddle somebody as well, with true love, without pride. Because I know enough, and see, since evil grows proud, that love ought not to stir envy. Joy agrees with love, and they don the same clothes, and whoever might disapprove of it, I shed my meanness; love is clad in fine joy and joy makes of love its lord, and evil, which doesn't end, debases and overthrows it. Courteously it beckons us, true love, and it refines itself; it makes of joy its call, so I submit even more to it: whereas evil repels worth, and doesn't know where to dwell. That's why I like youth to welcome love and to remain with it. Over the best rules my music, no matter how I variate it; and I master the words, entwining them, and I can say them the way I like. And I see the end of the poem that Sir Grimoart proposes to you: let him weave it with pleasure and refine it whoever can expose it in a good voice. |
Metrical pattern: irr