C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Guillaume de Poitiers (1190–1227): Behold the Meads
By Provençal Literature (The Troubadours), 1090–1290
The orchard-bloom is seen again,
Of sky and stream the mien again
Is mild, is bright!
Now should each heart that loves obtain
Its own delight.
However slight my guerdon prove;
Repining doth not me behove:
And yet—to know
How lightly she I fain would move
Might bliss bestow!
Because with little hope I wait;
But one old saw doth animate
And me assure:
Their hearts are high, their might is great,
Who well endure.
But sorrowful must my song be;
No more pay I my fealty
In Limousin or Poitiers,
And leave my son to stormy war,
To fear and peril; for they are
No friends who dwell about him there.
That Poitiers I see no more,
And Fulk of Anjou must implore
To guard his kinsman and my heir?
And he who made me knight, I wot
Many against the boy will plot,
Deeming him well-nigh in despair.
And gay, and ready for emprise,
Gascons and Angevins will rise,
And him into the dust will bear.
But we are sundered, all the same!
I go to Him in whose great name
Confide all sinners everywhere.
My heart,—all pride of steed or state,—
To Him on whom the pilgrims wait,
Without more tarrying, I repair.
If aught of wrong I thee have done!
I lift to Jesus on his throne
In Latin and Románs my prayer.
Till my Lord spake, and me forbade;
But now the end is coming sad,
Nor can I more my burden bear.
Pay me due honor where I lie:
Tell how in love and luxury
I triumphed still,—or here or there.
And silken robes and miniver!