The birds, the birds of mine own land
I heard in Brittany;
And as they sung, they seemed to me
The very same I heard with thee.
And if it were indeed a dream,
Such thoughts they taught my soul to frame
That straight a plaintive number came,
Which still shall be my song, Till that reward is mine which love hath promised long.
This absence from my own country’s
So long, it brings me to death’s door,
I languish here, beyond the sea,
Weary, in comfort and joy no more,
And I greatly fear that enemy
Who slanders me: I wronged endure,
Yet feel my heart so true and pure,
Please God, no harm will come to me.
Sweet Lady mine, don’t believe
Those who speak of me in malice.
Though you no longer look at me
With those sweet eyes that took me captive,
Me, with your true heart, you’ll still see.
But whether it urges you so to live
I know not: of all things fearing this
Alone: lest you not remember me.
For lightness in the hearts of women
Often strikes fear in the hearts of men,
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