| QUAN CHAI LA FUEILHA ... | WHENEVER LEAVES FALL DOWN ... |
| Arnaut Daniel | trans. A.S.Kline (from Provençal) |
Quan chai la fueilha dels aussors entrecims e·l freitz s'ergueilha don seca·l vais' e·l vims del dous refrims vei sordezir la brueilha mas ieu sui prims d'Amor, qui que s'en tueilha. Tot quant es gela, mas ieu non puesc frezir, qu'amors novela mi fai·l cor reverdir, non dei fremir, qu'Amors mi cuebr' e·m cela e·m fai tenir ma valor en capdela. Bona es vida pus joia la mante, que tals n'escrida cui ges non vai tam be: no sai de re coreilhar m'escarida, que per ma fe del mieilhs ai ma partida. De drudaria no·m sai de re blasmar, qu'autrui paria trastorn en reirazar; ges ab sa par no sai doblar m'amia, qu'una non par que segonda no·ilh sia. No vueilh s'asemble mos cors ab autr' amor si qu'ieu ja·il m'emble ni volva·l cap ailhor; non ai paor que ja celh de Pontremble n'aia gensor de lieis ni que la semble. Ges non es croia celha qui soi amis; de sai Savoia plus bella no·s noiris; tals m'abelis don ieu plus ai de joia non ac Paris d'Elena, cel de Troia. Tan pareis genta celha que·m te joios, las gensors trenta, vens de belhas faisos: ben es razos doncas que mos chans senta, quar es tan pros e de ric pretz manenta. Vai t'en chansos, denan lieis ti presenta, que s'ill nos fos no·i metr' Arnautz s'ententa. | When the pale leaves descend From the high crowns of trees And the cold airs ascend To fill the wandering breeze With melodies The forest is then no friend, Yet whoso flees I long for true Love again. Though cold it grows, I will not freeze forever, In whom love rose That will my heart deliver I’ll not shiver, Love hides me from head to toe, Brings strength rather And tells what way I must go. Good is this life That my delight maintains Though he who knows strife May otherwise complain I know no gain In changing of my life All free of pain, By my faith’s, my share of strife. In true love-making I find naught here to blame, Though others, playing, Find bad luck in the game, There’s none the same As her, there’s no repeating, She’s one I name Beyond all equalling. I’d not go giving My heart to another love Lest I find her fleeing Or she her gaze remove; I fear not too That Malspina’s rhyming, Can prove A nobler than her in seeming. There’s nothing bad there In she who is my friend; This side Savoy here None finer I contend; Joys without end She gives and greater Than Paris gained In Troy from his Helena. She is more lovely She who brings delight, Than the noble thirty Finer in every light, So it is right That she hear my melody For she’s the height Of worth, wins all praise truly. My song take flight, present yourself to her sweetly, but for her might Arnaut might strive more lightly. |
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Trans. Copyright © A.S.Kline 2008