To Bel Vezer, Viscountess of Ventadorn

Whene'er green leaves and grass appear,
And budding flowers from branches spring,
And nightingales do strong and clear
Uplift their voice and 'gin to sing —
Joy do they bring me, joy the flowers' sweet grace,
Joy my own heart, but most my lady's face;
And I am girt with joy on every side,
But she is joy who doth all else o'er-ride.

It marvels me that I can be,
And ne'er my love to her reveal,
For when my lady's eyes I see,
Their beauty all my senses steal;
Almost to her from very love I run,
And but for fear already were it done;
Ne'er was one seen of form and hue so fair,
Thus slow her faithful vassal's love to share.

To find her all alone, what bliss!
Asleep, or else but seeming so,
Then would I steal of her a kiss,
Since ne'er could ask it one so low;
Betwixt us few the deeds of love pardy!
Time speedeth onwards, all our best days flee;
By secret signs could we sweet converse hold,
And cunning use, instead of action bold.