In Poetry Courtly Love, Arnaut Daniel was known as the Grand Master of Love.

This is the second of four(4) poems from Arnaud Daniel who is rightly regarded as one of the best poets from the Poetry Courtly Love era.

Anc ieu non l'aic, mas elha m'a (I don't hold it, but it holds me)

I never held it but it holds me

all the time in its bail, Love,

and makes me glad in anger, fool in wisdom

as one that never can fight back,

because one who loves well cannot defend himself.

'cause love commands

that men serve and soothe it:

for which I expect,

suffering,

a good reward,

whenever it is granted.

I tell little of what's in my heart:

fear makes me silent and scared;

tongue hides but heart wants

what on which, in pain, broods so:

I languish, but I do not complain

because so far

as the sea embraces the earth

there's none so kind,

actually,

as the chosen one

for whom I long.

I so know her value, certain and true,

that I cannot turn elsewhere;

I do so that my heart aches,

when the sun sets and rests:

I don't dare say who inflames me;

my heart burns

but my eyes are fed,

because only

seeing her

has been left to me.

See, you, what keeps me alive!

Foolish is he who, for the sake of speech,

turns his joy into pain,

because slanderers, God curse them,

never have a nice tongue:

one whispers, the other brays,

and so withdraws

a love that would be great;

but I fight back,

disguising,

their blame,

and love with no hesitation.

That's why it keeps me happy and fine

with a favour with which it has raised me;

but it will never pass trough my throat,

for fear that she gets gloomy,

since I still feel the flame

of Love, that orders me

not to spread my mind:

I swear it,

frightened,

because I've seen many a love

deleted by its fame.

Many a light and easy song

I would have made, had she come to my help,

the one who gifts me with joy and takes it away,

'cause now I'm glad and now she turns me:

I am bound to her will.

Nothing asks

my heart, nor does it flee her,

but, earnestly,

I surrender to her:

if she then forgets me,

mercy is dead.

Tell Better-Than-Good,

if she takes you,

gracious song,

that Arnaut does not forget.

http://www.trobar.org/arnaut_daniel



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