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Quant l'aura doussa s'amarzis
E·l fuelha chai de sul verjan
E l'auzelh chanjan lor latis,
Et ieu de sai sospir e chan
D'Amor que·m te lassat e pres,
Qu'ieu anc no l'agui en poder.

Las! qu'ieu d'Amor non ai conquis
Mas cant lo trebalh e l'afan,
Ni res tant greu no·s covertis
Com fai so qu'ieu vau deziran!
Ni tal enveja no·m fai res
Cum fai so qu'ieu non posc aver.

Per una joja m'esbaudis
Fina, qu'anc re non amiey tan!
Quan suy ab lieys si m'esbahis
Qu'ieu no·ill sai dire mon talan,
E quan m'en vauc, vejaire m'es
Que tot perda·l sen e·l saber.

Tota la genser qu'anc hom vis
Encontra lieys no pretz un guan!
Quan totz lo segles brunezis,
Delai on ylh es si resplan.
Dieu prejarai qu'ancar l'ades
O que la vej'anar jazer.

Totz trassalh e bran et fremis
Per s'Amor, durmen o velhan.
Tal paor ai qu'ieu mesfalhis
No m'aus pessar cum la deman,
Mas servir l'ai dos ans o tres,
E pueys ben leu sabra·n lo ver.

Ni muer ni viu ni no guaris,
Ni mal no·m sent e si l'ai gran,
Quar de s'Amor no suy devis,
Non sai si ja l'aurai ni quan,
Qu'en lieys es tota la merces
Que·m pot sorzer o decazer.

Bel m'es quant ilh m'enfolhetis
E·m fai badar e·n vau muzan!
De leis m'es bel si m'escarnis
O·m gaba dereir'o denan,
Qu'apres lo mal me venra bes
Be leu, s'a lieys ven a plazer.

S'elha no·m vol, volgra moris
Lo dia que·m pres a coman!
Ai, las! tan suavet m'aucis
Quan de s'Amor me fetz semblan,
Que tornat m'a en tal deves
Que nuill' autra no vuelh vezer.

Totz cossiros m'en esjauzis,
Car s'ieu la dopti o la blan,
Per lieys serai o fals o fis,
O drechuriers o ples d'enjan,
O totz vilas o totz cortes,
O trebalhos o de lezer.

Mas, cui que plass'o cui que pes,
Elha·m pot, si·s vol, retener.

Cercamons ditz: greu er cortes
Hom qui d'Amor se desesper.

When the sweet air turns bitter
and the leaf falls from the twigs
and the birds change their language,
here I sigh and sing because of him,
because of Love, who keeps me ensnared and caught,
whereas I never had him in my power.

Alas! I haven't gained, of Love,
but the torment and pain,
for nothing is as hard to gain
as that which I am seeking,
nor any longing affects me
as that for what I cannot have.

I rejoice because of a pearl
so fine that I never loved anything as much;
when I am with her, I am so astonished
that I don't dare vouch my desire,
and when I part, it seems to me
that I lose all my sense and my learning.

The fairest woman one has ever seen,
compared to her, isn't worth a glove;
when the entire world turns to darkness,
light shines from the place she rests.
I shall pray god that I may touch her one day
or that I may see her go to bed.

Awake or asleep, I quiver and am all startled
and shaken because of my love for her.
I am so afraid of dying
that I don't dare think how to entreat her,
but I shall serve her two or three years
and then, maybe, she'll learn the truth.

I don't die nor live nor heal,
nor do I feel my malaise, although it's serious,
for I am not parted from her love
and I don't know whether I'll have it, nor when,
for in her is all the grace
that can raise me or cast me down.

It pleases me when she drives me insane
and make muse and gape in stupor;
it pleases me when she abuses me
and makes fun of me, behind my back or to my face,
for after the ill, the good will come
soon, if her fancy turns that way.

If she doesn't want me, I wish I had died
the day she took me in her service!
Alas! She murdered me so sweetly
when she seemed to love me,
for she has gripped me so
that I don't want to see any other woman.

Although worried, I rejoice:
for, although I shun or blandish her,
for her sake I shall be false or faithful,
or righteous or full of guile,
or a complete scoundrel or a complete gentleman,
or agitated or peaceful.

But, whoever may like it or grieve it,
she can retain me, if she wants.

Cercamon says: he is hardly courteous
who despairs of love.