“WHEN I see the flowers anew | |
| Peeping where the meadows grew, | |
| And I hear the fountain spring | |
| Murmur on the gravelling, | |
| Then young love holds me in thrall, | 5 |
| Which has never healing: | |
| If relief come not at all | |
| I must bide death’s dealing. | |
| |
| “I am dark and fair to see, | |
| Young in my virginity, | 10 |
| Rose my colour is and white, | |
| Pretty mouth and green mine eyes; | |
| And my breast it pricks me so | |
| I may not endure it, | |
| For I meddle me to know | 15 |
| Love, and naught can cure it. | |
| |
| “Certes, if I met a man | |
| Who stood in the way I ran, | |
| Freely would I love, for none | |
| Should I ever leave that one. | 20 |
| Often have I heard relate | |
| And for truth to tell, | |
| No one has a joy parfaite | |
| But comes of loving well.” | |
| |
| Straight toward the wench I went | 25 |
| For to be with her acquent; | |
| And I saw her white and fair, | |
| And her look was debonaire, | |
| Nor did she a whit forget | |
| Any word I spake her, | 30 |
| Now without delay or let | |
| For her love I prayed her. | |
| |
| Her bare hand I took, the maid | |
| On the thick green grass I laid: | |
| She cried out, to me she swore | 35 |
| Of my play she held no store: | |
| “Take away your lechery; | |
| May God truly shame it! | |
| ’Tis too rough and harsh for me, | |
| I can never wame it.” | 40 |
| |
| “Sweet love, my pretty maid, | |
| Wherefore now are you afraid? | |
| For you do not know a mite | |
| How this is a merry life. | |
| Mother did not for it die, | 45 |
| That you know right truly, | |
| Nor will you the daughter, why | |
| Do you fear unduly?” | |
| |
| When I had swived her maidenhood, | |
| And upon her feet she stood, | 50 |
| All aloud to me she cried | |
| “Well am I escaped your side: | |
| Thirteen years since, I was born | |
| As I rightly know; | |
| Never had I other morn | 55 |
| That I loved so.” | |
| |
