From Dawn to Dawn - Troubadour Poetry (A selection of Provençal poems, translated by AL Kline)

Anonymous (10th Century)
With pale Phoebus, in the clear east, not yet bright,

Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)
Out of the sweetness of the spring,
I’ve made a song devoid of sense:
Since we see, fresh flowers blowing
Great the joy that I take in love,
I’ll make a little song that’s new,
Since my mood urges me to sing

Jaufre Rudel (d.c.1148)
When the days are long, in May,
When the sweet fountain’s stream
No one can sing where no melody is,

Marcabru (fl. 1130-1150)
In an orchard down by the stream,
When the sweet air turns bitter,
If all the grief and woe and bitterness
When I see the lark display
So full is my heart of joy now,
When flowers are in the leaves green
When fresh breezes gather,
When the greenery unfolds
To the sweet song of the nightingale,
The nightingale sings happily
When fresh leaves and shoots appear,
Time comes, and goes, and runs away,
The sweetest voice I have heard,
Singing proves merely valueless

Peire d’Auvergne (fl.1157-1170)
With noble joy commences

Raimbaut d’Orange (c1144-d.1173)
Now the flowers gleam, in reverse,
I do not sing for bird or flower,
I’ve been in great distress of mind,
Now I must sing of what I would not do,

It’s sweet when the breeze blows softly,
I am the one that knows the pain that flows
When the pale leaves descend
Sweet tweet and cry
I see scarlet; green, blue, white, yellow
I have him not, yet he has me
The firm desire that in my heart enters
To this light tune, graceful and slender,

Peire Vidal (1175 – 1205)
I breathe deeply, draw in the air:
Though spring’s glorious
No more than a beggar dare complain,
I’ve felt, for so long, so

Raimbaut de Vaqueiras (c1155- fl.1180-d. c1207)
Deep waves that roll, travelling the sea,
Keep a watch, watchman there, on the wall,
Calends of May

Guillem de Cabestan (1162–1212)
Like to him who bends the leaves
The day I saw you, lady that first time,
Never would I have conceived

Bertran de Born (c1140-d.before1215)
Lady, since you care not at all
The joyful springtime pleases me
Ah, Limousin! Country free and courtly,

Giraut de Bornelh (c. 1138 – 1215)
Glorious king, true light and clarity,
On true love are all my thoughts bent
While the nightingale sings away
In a deep bower under a hawthorn-tree

Anonymous Balade (13th century or later)
The glance that my lady darts at me must slay,

Gaucelm Faidit (c. 1170 – c. 1202)
A harsh thing it is that brings such harm,
Truest Virgin, our Maria

Sordello (fl. 1220-1265)
I wish to mourn Blacatz, now, in skilful song,
Alas, what use are my eyes

Guiraut Riquier (c.1230 - 1292)
From pleasant