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Lanquan lo temps renovelha
e par la flors albespina,
ai talant d'un chant novelh
qu'ieu sai cum lo chans refri
........................
........................;
doussament per miey la bruelha
lo rossinhol s'esbaudeya.

E quand lo bosc reverdeya,
nays fresca e vertz la fuelha,
adoncas ieu reverdey
de joy e florisc cum suelh,
ab lo dous chan del mati
que fan d'amor li auzelh
........................;
jauzens somon a l'aurelha.

E pus l'us l'autre s'enselha
e'l par ves sa par s'aizina,
de nos es dregz que s'enselh
quascus d'atretal aizi,
ab fin'amor, ses erguelh.
Qu'ieu conosc assatz e vey,
pus la malvestatz s'orguelha,
qu'amor non deu far enveya.

Joys ab amar cabaleya
e's veston d'una despuelha,
e cui que desabaley,
d'escassedat mi despuelh;
amors si senh ab joy fi
e joys fa d'amor capdelh,
e malvestat que no fina,
bayssa prez e'l descapdelha.

Cortezament assembelha
amors vera e s'afina,
que de joy fa son sembelh,
per qu'ieu plus ves lieys acli:
e malvestatz dezacuelh
pretz que no sap on s'estey.
Per qu'ieu laus jovens acuelha
amors e ab lieys esteya.

Sobre'ls melhors senhoreya
mos chans en qual guiza'm vuelha,
e'ls motz laissans senhorey
e'ls say dir aissi cum vuelh.
E vec vos del vers la fi
qu'En Grimoartz vos espelh:
qu'ab joy lo las' e l'afina
si's qui bel chant ni l'espelha.

When the season renews itself
and the hawthorn flower appears
I feel like a new song
because I know what music sounds like
........................
........................;
sweetly, amid foliage
the nightingale feasts.

And when the wood turns green,
the leaf is born, fresh and green
I am renewed as well
through joy, and bloom, as is my habit,
with the sweet music of the morning
which the birds intone out of love.
........................;
joyous summon to the ear.

And as they straddle one another
and each treads his mate,
it is right that we straddle
somebody as well,
with true love, without pride.
Because I know enough, and see,
since evil grows proud,
that love ought not to stir envy.

Joy agrees with love,
and they don the same clothes,
and whoever might disapprove of it,
I shed my meanness;
love is clad in fine joy
and joy makes of love its lord,
and evil, which doesn't end,
debases and overthrows it.

Courteously it beckons us,
true love, and it refines itself;
it makes of joy its call,
so I submit even more to it:
whereas evil repels
worth, and doesn't know where to dwell.
That's why I like youth to welcome
love and to remain with it.

Over the best rules
my music, no matter how I variate it;
and I master the words, entwining them,
and I can say them the way I like.
And I see the end of the poem
that Sir Grimoart proposes to you:
let him weave it with pleasure and refine it
whoever can expose it in a good voice.