| du "ROMAN DE LA ROSE" | from "THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE" |
| Guillaume de Lorris | tr. A.S.Kline |
|
............ ............ Des roses i or grant monceaus, Aussi beles n'avoit sous ceaus; S'i or boutons petis et clos, Et tels qui sont un peu plus gros; Si en i a d'autre moison, Qui se traient à lor saison Et s'aprestent d'espaneïr: Icil ne font pas à haïr; Les roses ouvertes et lees Sont en un jour toutes alees, Mais li bouton durent toit frois A tout le moins deus jours ou trois. Icil bouton moult m'abelurent: Onques si bel nul lieu ne crurent; Qui en porroit un acrochier, Il le devrait avoir mult chier; Se chapel en peüsse avoir, Je n'amasse tant nul avoir. Entre ces boutons en eslui Un si tres bel qu'envers celui Nul des autres rien ne prisai, Puis que je l'oi bien avisé, Car une color l'enlumine Qui est si vermeille et si fine Com Nature la pot plus faire. De feuilles i ot quatre paire, Que Nature par grant maistire I ot assises tire à tire; La queue est droite comme jons, Et par-dessus siet li boutons Si qu'il ne cline ne se pent. L'odor de lui entor s'espant: La suatume qui en ist Toute la place replenist. Et quant jel senti si flairier, Je n'oi talent de repairier, Ainz m'aprochasse pour le prendre, Se j'i osasse la main tendre; Mais chardon agu et poignant M'en aloient moult esloignant; Espines trenchans et agues, Orties et ronces crochues Ne me laissoient avant traire, Car je me cremoie mal faire. Li Dieus d'Amour, qui, l'arc tendu, Avoit tousjours moult entendu A moi porsuivre et espier, S'ert arestés lès un fier; Et quant il ot aperceü Que j'avoie ainsi esleü Ce bouton qui plus me plaisoit Que nuls des autres ne faisoit, Il a tantost pris une floiche, Et quant la corde fu en coiche, Il entesa jusqu'à l'oreille L'arc, qui estoit fors à merveille, Et traist à moi par tel devise Que par mi l'ueil m'a ou cuer mise La saiete par grant roidor. ................ ................ |
................ ................ There were roses massed on high, The loveliest beneath the sky, Little buds all tightly closed, Others slightly larger though: And some of a different size, Almost ready for our eyes, Ready to bloom in season, Not to be scorned, for that reason: Those that are opened wide In a day have blown and died, But the little buds stay quite fresh For two or three days I’d guess. They seemed beautiful to me, Never such sweetness did I see: If a man could cull one there He should treasure it with care: If I could have a garland made, No greater wealth would be displayed. Among these buds there caught my eyes One so beautiful, it was the prize Among the others clustered there When I stopped close by to stare, Illuminated by such a hue Of the deepest red and true That Nature could conceive. It had four pairs of leaves, That Nature with great skill Placed there tier on tier at will: Straight as a reed its stalk set, And above the little bud-let Without drooping or bending Its fragrance there lingering The scent within it spread All around my head, When I smelt its perfume I’d No thought of stepping aside, But would have stooped to cull it, If my hand had dared to touch it: But sharp stabbing thistles Kept me far from its petals: Fierce, spiny thorns, nettles And curved grasping brambles, Would not let me pass: I feared to harm myself. The God of Love with arching bow Had been ever following though, Intent on keeping his eye on me, He’d stopped beside a little fig tree: And when he perceived That I’d settled on it indeed, That little bud that pleased me so More than any other I know, Quickly an arrow he caught, And when the string was taut, He drew it back to his ear And fired it at me there, With such skill from his bow, That he struck me a mighty blow Into the eye with such power He lodged it in my heart that hour. ................ ................ |
Guillaume de Lorris wrote 1st. 4,000 lines of the Roman de la Rose & left it unfinished.
Trans. Copyright © A.S.Kline 2005