When the pale leaves descend
From the high crowns of trees
And the cold airs ascend
To fill the wandering breeze
With melodies
The forest is then no friend,
Yet whoso flees
I long for true Love again.
Though cold it grows,
I will not freeze forever,
In whom love rose
That will my heart deliver
I’ll not shiver,
Love hides me from head to toe,
Brings strength rather
And tells what way I must go.
Good is this life
That my delight maintains
Though he who knows strife
May otherwise complain
I know no gain
In changing of my life
All free of pain,
By my faith’s, my share of strife.
In true love-making
I find naught here to blame,
Though others, playing,
Find bad luck in the game,
There’s none the same
As her, there’s no repeating,
She’s one I name
Beyond all equalling.
I’d not go giving
My heart to another love
Lest I find her fleeing
Or she her gaze remove;
I fear not too
That Malspina’s rhyming,
Can prove
A nobler than her in seeming.
There’s nothing bad there
In she who is my friend;
This side Savoy here
None finer I contend;
Joys without end
She gives and greater
Than Paris gained
In Troy from his Helena.
She is more lovely
She who brings delight,
Than the noble thirty
Finer in every light,
So it is right
That she hear my melody
For she’s the height
Of worth, wins all praise truly.
My song take flight,
present yourself to her sweetly,
but for her might
Arnaut might strive more lightly.
(Arnaut Daniel)
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