FROM THE FRENCH OF THE VIDAME DE CHARTRES
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2--? When the fields catch flowerAnd the underwood is green,And from bower unto bowerThe songs of the birds begin,I sing with sighing between.When I laugh and sing,I am heavy at heart for my sin;I am sad in the springFor my love that I shall not win,For a foolish thing. This profit I have of my woe,That I know, as I sing,I know he will needs have it soWho is master and king,Who is lord of the spirit of spring.I will serve her and will not spareTill her pity awakeWho is good, who is pure, who is fair,Even her for whose sakeLove hath ta'en me and slain unaware. O my lord, O Love,I have laid my life at thy feet;Have thy will thereof,Do as it please thee with it,For what shall please thee is sweet.I am come unto theeTo do thee service, O Love;Yet cannot I seeThou wilt take any pity thereof,Any mercy on me. But the grace I have long time soughtComes never in sight,If in her it abideth not,Through thy mercy and might,Whose heart is the world's delight.Thou hast sworn without fail I shall die,For my heart is setOn what hurts me, I wot not why,But cannot forgetWhat I love, what I sing for and sigh. She is worthy of praise,For this grief of her giving is worthAll the joy of my daysThat lie between death's day and birth,All the lordship of things upon earth.Nay, what have I said?I would not be glad if I could;My dream and my dreadAre of her, and for her sake I wouldThat my life were fled. Lo, sweet, if I durst not pray to you,Then were I dead;If I sang not a little to say to you,(Could it be said)O my love, how my heart would be fed;Ah sweet who hast hold of my heart,For thy love's sake I live,Do but tell me, ere either depart,What a lover may giveFor a woman so fair as thou art. The lovers that disbelieve,False rumours shall grieveAnd evil-speaking shall part.
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