Middle English Poems - Poems about Middle English

MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF MEDIEVAL ENGLISH POEMS Inordinate Love anonymous Middle English poem, circa 15th century loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I shall say what inordinate love is: The ferocity and singleness of mind, An inextinguishable burning devoid of bliss, A great hunger, too insatiable to decline, A dulcet ill, an evil sweetness, blind, A right wonderful, sugared, sweet error, Without any rest, contrary...

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“What is he, this lordling, that cometh from the fight?” by William Herebert, 14th century translation by Michael R. Burch Who is he, this lordling, who staggers from the fight, with blood-red garb so grisly arrayed, once appareled in lineaments white? Once so seemly in sight? Once so valiant a knight? “It is I, it is I, who alone speaks right, a champion to...

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The Rhymed Poem aka The Rhyming Poem and The Riming Poem Old English Poem (i.e., Anglo-Saxon Poem) from the Exeter Book, ca. 990 AD loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch He who granted me life created this sun and graciously provided its radiant engine. I was gladdened with glees, bathed in bright hues, deluged with joy’s blossoms, sunshine-infused. Men admired...

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The Rhymed Poem aka The Rhyming Poem and The Riming Poem - Part II anonymous Old English Poem from the Exeter Book, circa 990 AD loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch He who granted me life created this sun and graciously provided its radiant engine. I was gladdened with glees, bathed in bright hues, deluged with joy’s blossoms, sunshine-infused. Men...

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Medieval Poem V A Proverb from Winfred's Time anonymous Old English poem, circa 757-786 loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch 1. The procrastinator puts off purpose, never initiates anything marvelous, never succeeds, and dies alone. 2. The late-deed-doer delays glory-striving, never indulges daring dreams, never succeeds, and dies alone. 3. Often the deed-dodger avoids ventures, never succeeds, and dies alone. Winfrid or Wynfrith is better known as Saint Boniface (c....

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Medieval Poems IV IN LIBRARIOS by Thomas Campion loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Booksellers laud authors for novel editions as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions. Brut (circa 1100 AD, written by Layamon, an excerpt) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Now he stands on a hill overlooking the Avon, seeing steel fishes girded with swords in the stream, their swimming days done, their...

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Medieval Poems Deor's Lament (Anglo Saxon poem, circa 10th century AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Weland knew the agony of exile. That indomitable smith was wracked by grief. He endured countless troubles: sorrows were his only companions in his frozen island dungeon after Nithad had fettered him, many strong-but-supple sinew-bonds binding the better man. That passed away; this also may. Beadohild mourned her brothers' deaths but...

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Medieval Poems Wulf and Eadwacer (Old English circa 990 AD) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My people pursue him like crippled prey. They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack. We are so different! Wulf's on one island; I'm on another. His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. Here, bloodthirsty curs roam this island. They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack. We...

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I What weather will welcome roaming? Any, if it's sunny, she says Off they go, Thomas Hardy tales recalling ... Roaming the veld, let me count the ways - II If we were cattle, we would range If we were bandits we would rove - No roots in "Rome," that's strange? R O A M, it's a word for today, by Jove! III Students would read...

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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...

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This World's Joy (anonymous Middle English lyric) loose translation by Michael R. Burch Winter awakens all my care as leafless trees grow bare. For now my sighs are fraught when it enters my thought: regarding this world's joy, how it all comes to naught....

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Spring by Charles d'Orleans (c.1394-1465) loose translation 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) translation/modernization...

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