Molt jauzions mi prenc en amar
Un joi don plus mi vueill aizir;
E pos en joi vueill revertir,
Ben dei, si puesc, al meils anar,
Quar meillor n'am, estiers cujar,
C'om puesca vezer ni auzir.


I begin, rejoicing already, to love
A joy that I want most to settle down in ;
And since I want to come back to joy,
I must go, if I can, the best way:
For I am made better by one who is, beyond dispute, the best a man ever saw or heard.



Eu, so sabetz, no-m dei gabar
Ni de grans laus no-m sai formir;
Mas si anc nuill jois poc florir,
Aquest deu sobretotz granar
E part los autres esmerar
Si com sol brus jorns esclarzir.

I, as you know, am not one to boast,
I don't know how to praise myself,
But if ever any joy has put forth a flower,
It should, before all other joys, bring forth fruit
And shine in perfection above them,
As when a dark day fills with light.




Anc mais no poc hom faissonar
Car en voler ni en dezir
Ni en pensar ni en consir
Aitals jois non pot par trobar;
E qui be-l volria lauzar
D'un an no-i poiri' avenir.

No man has ever had the cunning to imagine
What it is like, he will not find it in will or desire,
in thought or meditation.
Such joy cannot find its like:
A man who tried to praise it justly
Would not come to the end of his praise in a year.



Totz jois li deu humeliar
E tota ricors obezir,
Midons, per son bel acuillir
E per son dous plazent esgar;
E deu hom mais sent tans durar
Qui-l joi de s'amor pot sazir.


Every joy must abase itself,
And every might obey
In the presence of Midons, for the sweetness
of her welcome, for her beautiful and gentle look;
And a man who wins to the joy of her love
Will live a hundred years.



Per son joi pot malaus sanar,
E per sa ira sas morir,
E savis hom enfolezir
E belhs hom sa beutat mudar
E-l plus cortes vilanejar,
E-l totz vilas encortezir.

The joy of her can make the sick man well again,
her wrath can make a well man die,
A wise man turn to childishness,
A beautiful man behold his beauty change;
The courtliest man can become a churl,
And any churl a courtly man.




Pus hom gensor no-n pot trobar,
Ni hueils vezer, ni boca dir,
A mos obs la vueill retenir,
Per lo cor dedins refrescar
E per la carn renovelar,
Que no puesca enveillezir.

Since man cannot discover, nor eye
Behold, nor tongue praise anyone more noble,
I want to keep her for myself
To revive the heart within me,
And renew my flesh,
That it may never grow old.



Si-m vol midons s'amor donar,
Pres soi del penr'e del grazir
E del celar e del blandir
E de sos plazers dir e far
E de son pretz tener en car
E de son laus enavantir.


If Midons chooses to give me her love,
I am ready to receive it and be grateful,
To keep it secret and pay it compliments;
To speak and act only to please her,
To cherish the goodness in her,
To make her praise resound.



Ren per autrui non l'aus mandar,
Tal paor ai c'ades s'azir!
Ni ieu mezeis, tan tem faillir,
Non l'aus m'amor fort asemblar;
Mas ela-m deu mon meils triar,
Pos sap c'ab lieis ai a guerir

I don't dare send her anything with a messenger,
I'm that afraid she might flare up in anger;
and I myself, I'm so afraid to fail,
Do not show her a single image of my love.
But she must pick out what is best in me,
because she knows: in her alone I'll be restored.