absolution that last line kills me. and, when i get the chance i'll add the version in its original form, a regional french variety. 'cause yum stylistic constraint in expressing otherwise unbridled emotion.

Listens: and the line about how having time to mope about love is worse than ploughing fields is ha.

a little troubadour poetry to keep me going, sans all the theory on the political setting which set courtly love in motion

And, when I gaze on her golden hair and her person which is
slender and fresh, I love her more than whoever gave me
Luserna.

I love her nobly and long for her so much that, through great
desire, I fear that I'll rob myself of her--if one can lose
something through loving well! For her heart floods full into
mine entirely, and it does not subside; she has in truth practised
usury so much that she owns by it worker and workshop.

I'd not have the empire of Rome, nor be made pope of it, if
thereby I might not return to her for whom my heart burns and
crackles; and if she soothes not my suffering with a kiss before
the year's out, she slays me and damns herself.

Scarce for the suffering that I endure do I renounce fine
loving, even though it keeps me in solitude, and thus these
words thereof I set to rime: I suffer more, a lover, than one
who toils at the plough, and never a whit did he of Monclin love
more the Lady Audierna.

I am Arnaut, who gathers the wind, and hunts the hare on ox-
back, and swims against the rising tide.

LJ Video