from "When, from the spring, the stream"
My distant love, for you, my
whole body aches
and I can find nothing to heal it
but in your call
that has as bait
soft love behind curtain or
in orchard with the mate
I long for.
That chance refused me forever, it's
no wonder I burn.
There was never fairer lady, God
couldn't want one,
Christian, Jewess, or Saracen.
The man who wins even part of her love
is fed on mana.
No end to my body's desire
her I love most.
I'm afraid my will will cheat me, over-
take me with lust;
for that pain is sharper than thorns and cured
only with joy.
I want pity from no one for a pain
I would share with no man . . . .
Jaufre Rudel
Translated from Provencal by Paul Blackburn
