C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Alba—Bertrand d’Aamanon (End of Twelfth Century): A Knight was Sitting by Her Side
By Provençal Literature (The Troubadours), 1090–1290
A
He loved more than aught else beside;
And as he kissed her, often sighed:—
Ah, dearest, now am I forlorn,
Night is away—alas, ’tis morn!
Ah, woe!
Already has the warder cried,
“Up and begone, ’tis now bright day—
The dawn has passed away.”
Sweet beyond all imagining,
If naught could day or dawning bring
There, where, caressing and caressed,
A lover clasps her he loves best.
Ah, woe!
Hark! what must end our communing!
“Up and begone, ’tis now bright day—
The dawn has passed away.”
That nothing on the earth can grieve
Like him who must his true love leave:
This from myself I know aright.
Alas, how swiftly flies the night!
Ah, woe!
The warder’s cry gives no reprieve:
“Up and begone, ’tis now bright day—
The dawn has passed away.”
Yours I am still, where’er I be.
Oh, I beseech you think on me!
For here will dwell my heart of hearts,
Nor leave you till its life departs.
Ah, woe!
The warder cries impatiently,
“Up and begone! ’tis now bright day—
The dawn has passed away.”
Dearest, I’ll lay me down and die;
So soon will love my heart’s springs dry.
Ah! soon will I return again—
Life without you is only pain.
Ah, woe!
Hark to the warder’s louder cry!
“Up and begone! ’tis now bright day—
The dawn is passed away.”