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En breu brizara'l temps braus
e'l biza, e'l brus e'l blancx
qui s'entresenhon trastuig
de sobre claus ram de fuelha:
qu'ar no'i chant'auzel ni piula,
m'ensenh Amors qu'ieu fassa donc
chan que non er segons ni tertz,
ans prim d'afrancar cor agre.

Amors es de pretz la claus
e de proeza us estancx
don naisson tut li bon frug,
s'es qui leialmen los cuelha,
que un delis gels ni niula,
mentre que's noiris el bon tronc:
mas si'l romp trefas ni culvertz,
peris tro leial lo sagre.

Falhirs emendatz es laus;
e ieu senti'm n'ams los flancx
que mais n'ai d'amor ses cug
que tals qu'en parl'e's n'orguelha,
que piegz me fa'l cor de friula;
mentr'ela'm fes semblant embronc,
mais volgr'ieu trair pen'els desertz
on anc non ac d'auzels agre.

Bona doctrina e suaus
e cors clars, suptils e francx
manda'm er al ferm condug
de leis don plus vuelh que'm cuelha,
quar, si'm fo fera escriula,
era jauzen breuja'm temps lonc,
qu'il m'es plus fina e ieu lieis sertz
que Talant e Meleagre.

Tan dopti que per non-aus
devenc soven ners e blancx;
si m'a'l sen Desirs forsdug
non sap lo cors trep o's duelha;
mas Jois qui d'esper m'afiula
m'encolpa quar no la somonc,
per que sui del prec tan espertz
non ai d'als talan neis magre.

Pensar de liei m'es repaus,
e tragua'm ambs los huelhs crancx
s'a lieis vezer no'ls estug;
e'l cor non creatz qu'en tuelha,
quar orars ni jocx ni viula
no'm pot de lieis un travers jonc
partir...qu'ai dig? Dieu, tu m'o mertz
o'm peris el pelac agre.

Arnautz vol sos chans sia ufertz
lai on dous motz mou en agre.

Soon the bad season will be over
and [with it] the gale and the dusk and the hoar
which now show themselves openly
over boughs devoid of any leaf;
since now no bird sings or chirps there,
Love then bids me stir
such a song as to be neither second nor third,
but first in sweetening a sour heart.

Love is the key to Worth
and of valour it is the paramount
where all the best fruits are born,
if there's one to pluck them loyally,
since none is spoilt by frost or fog,
while it feeds on the good bole:
but if broken by the wicked or treacherous,
it withers until a righteous lover blesses it.

To stand corrected in wrong is praise;
and I feel in both my sides
that I bring more love, doubtlessly,
than those who talk and brag,
since it makes my heart more feeble:
while she was smirking at me,
I would rather have roamed, penitent, in deserts
where no bird has ever nested.

Teachings good and sweet,
and a fair, subtle and earnest heart
now entrust me to the firm command
of the one whose welcome I long for above all others
since, if once she was to me cold and unreachable,
now she shortens my long time with joy,
since she's to me more faithful and I to her more subservient
than Atalanta and Meleager.

I fear so much that, not daring,
I often become black and white;
and Desire has so much driven me out of my wit
that I don't know whether my heart weeps or rejoices;
but Joy, which wreaths me with hope,
blames me because I don't ask her for love,
since I am so eager to entreat
that I don't seem to wish for anything else.

Thinking of her is my rest,
and may cancer gnaw both my eyes
if I don't keep them only to behold her;
and don't think I turn my heart elsewhere,
since neither prayer nor game nor viol
can part me from her the length of a reed...
what did I say? God, help my merits
or may the bitter ocean have me.

Arnaut wishes his song to be offered
there where a sweet word begins with "agre".