For the heart with care o'erflowing,
Here's a story, that is showing
An adventure fine and free
All of love and melody.
'Twas a scholar made its rhymes
(He was squire of dames betimes)
Who in Germany and France
Had his training for romance,
But in Lombardy was long
To learn courtesy is song.
. . . . . . . .

All in the month of April sweet
In an olive grove I made retreat,
My dinner done, where the branches meet
And a cup of wine mine eyes did greet
In the cooling shade of an apple-tree
Full and ruddy as wine can be.
It had been placed by a lady fair
Who was mistress of the orchards there,
For on him she loved her mind would think,
When he came that way he would stop and drink,
He would quaff it down in a fashion meet
Whenever he loitered there to eat,
And thus refreshed would remain always
Strong and healthy through all his days.
Higher up on the apple bough
Another cup caught my vision now,
Full to the brim of the water clear
That oozed from the dewy branches near
I would have tasted its liquor pure
But I feared in it enchantment sure,
So I laid my head to the verdant sward
Where a midday rest I might afford,
And the heat of the day was burning so
I stripped my clothing from head to toe,
And slipped in the spring that flowed thereby —
Never the like hath met your eye! —
So fresh it was, and healthful too,
In the chill of its waters through and through.
A step in its depths from off the shore
And you felt the heat of the day no more.
Every herb of odorous air
Was breathing fresh on its margin fair;
The salvia likewise and the rose,
With the lily and the violet close,
And numerous herbs in row on row
Whose very names I do not know;
But such a perfume from all was shed
It was sweet enough to rouse the dead.
I took a sup of the water then
And felt my body cool again;
And in my hand I took a flower,
To wit, the worthiest in that bower,
Prepared to sing of love's fond hour, —
When suddenly a damsel came —
Never in life have you seen the same —
So white, so blushing red was she;
Her short hair round her ears blown free,
Her forehead white and passing fair,
And face as sweet as an apple rare.
Her nose so straight and finely turned,
Ne'er such another have you discerned! —
Her eyes of midnight shining clear;
Her lovely lips where white teeth appear
'Twixt the ruby smiles so full and free —
Perfection's self, so it seemed to me! —
Her girdle broad and measured well
To a graceful line about her fell,
Her cloak and gown were of nothing less
Than samite white, her form to dress;
The little hat upon her head
'Gainst the midday heats was garlanded,
And you would have known by the gloves she wore
No peasant maid was she who bore.
The flowers bent down before her feet
As she walked along, while her lips repeat
This song of love:
. . . . . . . . . .

" O friend of mine ,
Would that my arms could always twine
About you here in love, and know
The sweets of loving forever so!
For you are a scholar as you show,
And for this I hold you far more dear.
Never a man did I ever hear
To boast of such love as my heart makes clear.
I had rather my love with you to share
Than the diadem of Spain to wear.
There's but one care upon my heart
And dread lest some mischance may start;
For they say that another lady bright
In beauty and goodness claims a right
Upon your love, and with such a call
That despite shall ruin her mind in all;
And for her my fear is very great,
Lest your love for me she may abate.
But now that you behold me well,
Lover and loved, let us faithful dwell! "
. . . . . . . .

The while the lady reasoned so,
I saw she did not turn to go;
That, though she knew me not for long,
She did not fear my passion strong.
That day I was no peasant boor;
I rose and took her fingers pure,
And arm in arm we settled down
In the shade of the olive branches brown.
And I said to her: " My lady, say,
Have you known no love until today? " —
She answered, — " Truly with love I glow,
And little about my squire I know;
But I should bid his messenger hear,
That I know he's a cleric, not cavalier;
That he reads and writes and sings full clear,
That he follows the troubadour's career.
I know, as well, that his birth is fair
And the first of his youthful beard is there. "
" For God's sake, lady, say to me
What gifts hath he sent in courtesy? " —
" These perfumed gloves, this hat, he sent,
This ring, this coral ornament;
And for his love they are the sign
Of the love I bear this sweet friend of mine. "
There I, in truth, the trinkets knew
That I had sent! and to her view
The little sash I wore, displayed
With the broideries her hands had made.
She doffed her shoulder mantle bright,
She kissed my mouth and eyelids right,
And such delight she took of me
That I cannot give the history.
" Lord God be praised that here below
My lover dear so well I know! " —
Full long, full long, we tarried there,
When came the thought unto my fair,
And she explained, — " My Master sweet,
If you should deem it more discreet,
'Twill not displease you should I go — "
And I to her — " My heart shall show
That it is faithful evermore,
And prouder than an emperor. " —
And so alone my lady went,
Leaving me to my discontent,
For hardly had she passed the gate
When my heart like death grew desolate.
I tried to lay me down to sleep,
But a tiny dove came there to peep;
As white as any snowflake blown
Across the garden it flew alone,
And unto the pool it took its way
Where suddenly it saw me laid,
And it turned away in trouble great
Into the orchard of pomegranate.
Now there was fastened a cup of gold
That its little feet could scarce uphold,
But into the pool it bore its weight
Where I lay in the shade of the pomegranate.
And when the golden cup was filled
And unto its very depths was chilled,
In sign that the feast was at an end
The water and wine it made to blend.