Medieval Poems

Medieval Poems How Long the Night anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts with the mild pheasants' song ... but now I feel the northern wind's blast— its severe weather strong. Alas! Alas! This night seems so long! And I, because of my momentous wrong, now grieve, mourn and fast. Three Roundels by Geoffrey Chaucer Merciless Beauty by Geoffrey Chaucer loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your eyes slay me suddenly; their beauty I cannot sustain, they wound me so, through my heart keen. Unless your words heal me hastily, my heart's wound will remain green; for your eyes slay me suddenly; their beauty I cannot sustain. By all truth, I tell you faithfully that you are of life and death my queen; for at my death this truth shall be seen: your eyes slay me suddenly; their beauty I cannot sustain, they wound me so, through my heart keen. Rejection by Geoffrey Chaucer loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your beauty from your heart has so erased Pity, that it’s useless to complain; For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain. I'm guiltless, yet my sentence has been cast. I tell you truly, needless now to feign,— Your beauty from your heart has so erased Pity, that it’s useless to complain. Alas, that Nature in your face compassed Such beauty, that no man may hope attain To mercy, though he perish from the pain; Your beauty from your heart has so erased Pity, that it’s useless to complain; For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain. Escape by Geoffrey Chaucer loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat, I never plan to be in his prison lean; Since I am free, I count it not a bean. He may question me and counter this and that; I care not: I will answer just as I mean. Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat, I never plan to be in his prison lean. Love strikes me from his roster, short and flat, And he is struck from my books, just as clean, Forevermore; there is no other mean. Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat, I never plan to be in his prison lean; Since I am free, I count it not a bean. Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains, Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain, Your little feet—please, what more can I say? It is my fetish when you’re far away To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain— Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains. So would I beg you, if I only may, To see such sights as I before have seen, Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene? I’ll be obsessed until my dying day By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains! Spring by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Young lovers, greeting the spring fling themselves downhill, making cobblestones ring with their wild leaps and arcs, like ecstatic sparks struck from coal. What is their brazen goal? They grab at whatever passes, so we can only hazard guesses. But they rear like prancing steeds raked by brilliant spurs of need, Young lovers. Oft in My Thought by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So often in my busy mind I sought, Around the advent of the fledgling year, For something pretty that I really ought To give my lady dear; But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear, Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay And robbed the world of all that's precious here? God keep her soul, I can no better say. For me to keep my manner and my thought Acceptable, as suits my age's hour? While proving that I never once forgot Her worth? It tests my power! I serve her now with masses and with prayer; For it would be a shame for me to stray Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near— God keep her soul, I can no better say. Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost And the cost of everything became so dear; Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host, Take my good deeds, as many as there are, And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere, As heaven's truest maid! And may I say: Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer— God keep her soul, I can no better say. When I praise her, or hear her praises raised, I recall how recently she brought me pleasure; Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay And makes me wish to dress for my own bier— God keep her soul, I can no better say. Winter has cast his cloak away by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter has cast his cloak away of wind and cold and chilling rain to dress in embroidered light again: the light of day—bright, festive, gay! Each bird and beast, without delay, in its own tongue, sings this refrain: "Winter has cast his cloak away!" Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play, wear, with their summer livery, bright beads of silver jewelry. All the Earth has a new and fresh display: Winter has cast his cloak away! The year lays down his mantle cold by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The year lays down his mantle cold of wind, chill rain and bitter air, and now goes clad in clothes of gold of smiling suns and seasons fair, while birds and beasts of wood and fold now with each cry and song declare: "The year lays down his mantle cold!" All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled, now pleasant summer livery wear with silver beads embroidered where the world puts off its raiment old. The year lays down his mantle cold. Keywords/Tags: Middle English, Medieval English, Old English, Anglo-Saxon