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
Copyright © Michael Burch | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment