Ab la dolchor del temps novel
foillo li bosc, e li aucel
chanton, chascus en lor lati,
segon lo vers del novel chan:
adonc esta be c'om s'aisi
d'acho dont hom a plus talan.

De lai don plus m'es bon e bel
non vei mesager ni sagel,
per que mos cors non dorm ni ri
ni no m'aus traire adenan,
tro qu'eu sacha ben de la fi,
s'el'es aissi com eu deman.

La nostr'amor va enaissi
com la brancha de l'albespi,
qu'esta sobre l'arbr' en creman,
la nuoit, ab la ploi'ez al gel,
tro l'endeman, que.l sols s'espan
per la fueilla vert el ramel

Enquer me membra d'un mati
que nos fezem de guerra fi
e que.m donet un don tan gran:
sa drudari' e sin anel.
Enquer me lais Dieus viure tan
qu'aia mas mans soz son mantel!

Qu'eu non soing d'estraing lati
que.m parta de mon Bon Vezi;
qu'eu sai de paraulas com van,
ab um breu sermon que s'espel:
que tal se van d'amor gaban,
non n'avem la pessa e.l coutel.
New life: the woods are leafing out
and every type of bird is shouting
now in its specific tongue,
all versions of the latest song.
The time is sweet-a man should find
the ease which most is on his mind.

From there (where it would please me best
to be) so far I've had no word-
until I can be reassured
by her of what I'm hoping for,
I don't dare go there any more
and so can neither laugh nor rest.

This is how our love is now:
it's like a fragile hawthorn bough
that trembles on the tree all night
and rattles under hail and rain,
but next day feels the spreading light
on twigs which soon are pushing green.

That branch reminds me of a morning
when we made an end to war
and when she gave me precious gifts:
her ring, her friendship, and her love.
Dear God, may I live long enough
to get my hands beneath her shift!

You know how the chatter goes
that keeps the two of us apart:
officious meddlers breeding strife.
Let's not take idle talk to heart-
no matter what the others boast
of love, we've both the loaf and knife.