Ab la douzor del temps novel Fueillon li bosc, e li auzel Chanton chascus en lor lati, Segon lo vers del novel chan: Adonc esta ben q'on s'aizi De zo dont hom a plus talan.	For the sweetness of springtime, the woods leaf and the birds sing, each in its own language, according to the swing of the new song: it is therefore right that one tends towards what he desires most.
De lai don plus m'es bon e bel No-m ve messatger ni sagel, Don mon cors non dorm ni non ri Ni no m'en auz traire enan, Tro que eu sapcha ben de la fi, S'el es aissi com eu deman.	From the place I like and love comes neither messenger nor missive; because of this, I neither sleep nor laugh; and I don't dare come forward until I know with certitude whether things stand as I want them to.
La nostr'amor va enaissi Com la brancha de l'albespi Qu'estai sobre l'arbre tremblan, La noig, ab la ploi' e al gel, Tro l'endeman, qe-l sols s'espan Per la fueilla vert el ramel.	Our love works just as the hawthorn twig which stands shaking on the tree in the night, in the rain and in the frost until the morning after, when the sun stretches on the green leaf and on the branches.
Anquar me membra d'un mati Que nos fezem de guerra fi E que-m donet un don tan gran, Sa drudari'e son anel: Anquar me lais Dieus viure tan Qu'aia mas manz sotz son mantel!	I still remember a morning when we ended a fight and when she gave such an important gift, her love and her ring: god let me live long enough to put my hands under her cape.
Qu'ieu non ai soing d'estraing lati Qe-m parta de mon Bon Vezi, Q'ieu sai de paraulas com van, Ab un breu sermon qi s'espel: Que tal se van d'amor gaban; Nos n'avem la pess'e-l coutel.	I don't worry that a strange language would part me from my Good Neighbour, because I know the wandering ways of words: they begin as idle chat: some people brag about love matters, we have the matter in hand.