Hugh of Saint Circ to His Lady

Three foes and two right cruel lords oppress me,
Who day and night strive how they best may slay me;
The foes — my eyes and heart, which sore distress me
With love of one who ever will gainsay me;
One lord is Love, beneath whose yoke I lay me,
Who claims from heart and soul obedience meek;
The other thou, whose love full long I seek,
To whom, though I should die, I nowise dare
My love reveal, and my fond heart lay bare.

What help have I, for bootless 'tis to borrow
Some joy from others, if thou mock my pleading?
What help have I, to whom a bitter sorrow
Is joy, from any other source proceeding?
What help have I? Thy love my heart is leading,
While now it follows me, and now it flees;
What help have I, for nowhere find I ease?
What help have I — how can I freedom gain.
If thou, sweet Lady, wilt not me retain?

How can I bear this life of bitter anguish?
And yet I cannot win me rest by dying;
How can I bear through love of thee to languish.
One little hope my hopelessness belying?
How can I bear for ever to be sighing,
Of joy bereft, if joy thou wilt not give?
How can I bear in jealousy to live
Of those, who freely in thy presence dwell,
And eke of those of whom all men speak well?

How can I live for ever broken-hearted,
Sighing both day and night with hopes unsated?
How can I live, for when I'm from thee parted
My words and deeds as nought by men are rated?
How can I live, who nothing else am fated
To heed but thee, but thee and thy fair face,
Thy pleasant speech, and bearing full of grace?
How can I live? to God my prayers rise
That I may soon find favour in thy eyes.