Classic Poem

Being in thought of love, I chanced to see
Two youthful damozels.
One sang: " Our life inhales
All love continually."

Their aspect was so utterly serene,
So courteous, of such quiet nobleness,
That I said to them: " Yours, I may well ween,
'Tis of all virtue to unlock the place.
Ah! damozels, do not account him base
Whom thus his wound subdues:
Since I was at Thoulouse,
My heart is dead in me."

They turned their eyes upon me in so much
As to perceive how wounded was my heart;
While, of the spirits born of tears, one such
Had been begotten through the constant smart.
Then seeing me, abashed, to turn apart,
One of them said, and laugh'd:
" Love, look you, by his craft
Holds this man thoroughly."

But with grave sweetness, after a brief while,
She who at first had laughed on me replied,
Saying: " This lady, who by Love's great guile
Her countenance in thy heart has glorified,
Look'd thee so deep within the eyes, Love sigh'd
And was awakened there.
If it seem ill to bear,
In him thy hope must be."

The second piteous maiden, of all ruth,
Fashioned for sport in Love's own image, said:
" This stroke, whereof thy heart bears trace in sooth,
From eyes of too much puissance was shed,
Whence in thy heart such brightness entered,
Thou mayst not look thereon.
Say, of those eyes that shone
Canst thou remember thee?"

Then said I, yielding answer therewithal
Unto this virgin's difficult behest:
" A lady of Thoulouse, whom Love doth call
Mandetta, sweetly kirtled and enlaced,
I do remember to my sore unrest.
Yea, by her eyes indeed
My life has been decreed
To death inevitably."

Go, Ballad, to the city, even Thoulouse,
And softly entering the Daurade, look round
And softly call, that so there may be found
Some lady who for compleasaunce may choose
To show thee her who can my life confuse.
And if she yield thee way,
Lift thou thy voice and say:
" For grace I come to thee."