trobaire.org

a collection of literature from poets, bards, songwriters, and skalds in the SCA

Song

Poem (Canso): 

Groweth anew the world in spring,
And with its showers lovers joys bring,
Save for the one who lacks his mate:
To him the cruel month yield no thing.

While others live, this heart doth end,
Who hath no aid that could him tend
And hope to prosper in his ache.
To lost love his thoughts ever bend.

Those others may with kisses prove
The worth and favor of their love,
But this one can only recall
The strong cord they together wove.

The flowers have not so rich a hew,
As when she bathèd in their dew
And smiled brighter than the sun;
No other being such beauty shew.

Without that sight fair to define,
What call we beauty or divine?
As good is dimmed, so too is ill:
For what Heaven can Hell then pine?

This blessed soul doth suffer wrong,
That from God’s light she reside long.
What sin hath she, born but of man?
In no other is love this strong.

Virtuous love the world rare know,
But chanced in her the seed to sow;
Though death will come, let it delay,
And true love may all the world grow.