Geoffrey Chaucer translations 1 by Michael R Burch

These are modern English translations of love poems by Geoffrey Chaucer. These are poems of love, longing, passion and desire. To Rosemounde: A Ballade by Geoffrey Chaucer translation by Michael R. Burch Madame, you’re a shrine to loveliness And as world-encircling as trade’s duties. For your eyes shine like glorious crystals And your round cheeks like rubies. Therefore you’re so merry and so jocund That at revels, when that I see you dance, You become an ointment to my wound, Though you offer me no dalliance. For though I weep wells of warm tears, Still woe cannot confound my heart. For your seemly voice, so delicately pronounced, Make my thoughts abound with bliss, even apart. So courteously I go, by your love bound, Saying to myself, in true penance, "Suffer me to love you Rosemounde, Though you offer me no dalliance.” Never was a pike so sauce-immersed As I, in love, am caught and wounded. For which I often, of myself, divine That I am truly Tristam the Second. My love may not grow cold, nor numb; I burn in an amorous pleasance. Do as you will, and I will be your thrall, Though you offer me no dalliance. *** A Lady without Paragon by Geoffrey Chaucer translation by Michael R. Burch Hide, Absalom, your shining tresses; Esther, veil your meekness; Retract, Jonathan, your friendly caresses; Penelope and Marcia Catoun? Other wives hold no comparison; Hide your beauties, Isolde and Helen; My lady comes, all stars to outshine. Thy body fair? Let it not appear, Lavinia and Lucretia of Rome; Nor Polyxena, who found love’s cost so dear; Nor Cleopatra, with all her passion. Hide the truth of love and your renown; And thou, Thisbe, who felt such pain; My lady comes, all stars to outshine. Hero, Dido, Laodamia, all fair, And Phyllis, hanging for Demophon; And Canace, dead by love’s cruel spear; And Hypsipyle, betrayed along with Jason; Make of your truth neither boast nor swoon, Nor Hypermnestra nor Adriane, ye twain; My lady comes, all stars to outshine. *** Lament for Chaucer by Thomas Hoccleve translation by Michael R. Burch Alas, my worthy master, honorable, The very treasure and riches of this land! Death, by your death, has done irreparable harm to us: her cruel and vengeful hand has robbed our country of sweet rhetoric... Keywords/Tags: Geoffrey Chaucer, translations, Rosemounde, Ballade, dalliance, world, heart, love, longing, passion, desire, voice, eyes, dance, wound, weep, tears, wife, wives, beauty, beauties, pain, stars, truth