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This Harsh and New Misadventure

This harsh and new

Misadventure has defeated my 

Heart and every sweet

Thought I had about

Love. Defeat is already

Very much a part

Of my life. That

Sweet and gentle woman

Is gone and my 

Soul is destroyed; yes, 

I don’t even see 

The place where she

Was: there is no 

Strength left in me 

To comprehend in my

Mind the flower of 

Her worth. All gentle 

Thought has died because, 

I say, I’ll never

See her, again, this

Pitiless and harsh torment, 

That increases my burning,

Bitterness: I can’t find

Anyone to take pity

Me, lord, have 

Mercy on me as 

The painful wheel of 

Fortune turns. I’m full

Of every pain and 

In a fearful place 

Where my painful heart

And spirit, because fortune 

Doesn’t care about me, 

Are dead and I’m 

So sorry; and 

False hope, in time,

Has died and robbed

Me of delightful hours.

My words are defeated

And fearful, as they 

Go about sighing

And ashamed and

The name of my

Woman I call: I,

Also, remain in heavy,

Adversity and what foresight 

Sees is the color 

Of death below me.

See I’m The One

See, I’m the one

That goes about crying, 

And I demonstrate the 

Justice of love; and already

I don’t find anyone 

With pity’s heart, that,

Sees me and sighs.

New pains come into

My heart that hurt

Me and I cry 

Hard; and many times,

By surprise, the agony

Of death arrives, that

Makes people take notice,

And they say amongst

Themselves: this one is

In pain; from the

Outside he looks bent,

And within he has

New miseries. A heavy

Weight descended on

My heart, certain spirits

Were already consumed, that

Had come to defend my

Painful heart, I had

Called them: and they left 

My eyes abandoned, then 

In my mind I

Hear a voice say:

The misery within, that

Dies, but watch out

When misery takes aim.

I Was Thinking About Love

I was thinking about

Love, when I found

Two young women; one

Sang: the joy of

Love is raining within

Us. Their style was

So, cool, quiet, courteous

And humble, I said

To them: you carry

The keys to every

High and gentle virtue:

Oh! Young women, do

Not think I’m vile:

Because of the guilt

I carry, my heart

Is dead, that’s why

I went to Toulouse

And with their eyes

They turned to see

My wounded heart; it

Was like a crying

Spirit was born and

from within my guilt

It departed. That’s why

They looked at me

Dumbfounded, the one

Who was smiling said:

Look how the joy

Of love has conquered

This man. So, courteously

She responded, the one

Who at first was laughing.

She said: the woman

That is in your

Heart has shown the

Power of love upon

Your face, has made

Love appear within your

Eyes: if your suffering

Is severe, that’s what

Love recommends. The other

One, full of mercy and 

Made for joy, in

The figure of love,

Said: your guilt that

I see within your

Heart, was made by

The eyes of a great

Courage that has left within

You a magnificence,

But I can’t see: tell 

Me: can you remember

Her eyes? With her 

Question, I said to

The woman: I remember,

In Toulouse, a

Woman appeared sharply dressed

And well put together 

Whom love called, Mandy.

She came swift and

Strong and deadly. I 

Was struck down 

By her eyes. 

Go Toulouse, 

My, ballad. Enter quietly

Underneath the golden roof

And call out, for 

Your courtesy, any beautiful

Woman, and say in

Front of her, I 

Have prayed for you;

And she will receive 

You and softly say:

In mercy and grace

I’ve come to you.

When Death Comes To Me

When death comes to

Me, with a joyful

Heaviness like a great

Grief, the spirit of

Love invites me? Why

Invite my heart to

Love? Leave it, 

It’s full of pain

And everywhere sighs are

A prison. Almost, even

Mercy could not

Respond. Virtue stripped,

I’m breathlessly, almost conquered;

Songs, pleasure and benign

Laughter, to me are

Pain and sighing; look

At me and see, 

Death in my eyes

Has risen. Love, that

Is born of similar 

Pleasures, in my heart

Rests, forms desire into

A new person, but

Makes virtue fall from

Sight; if love already

Doesn’t dare to feel, 

How do I serve this guide:

Why does love reason

With me? I think, 

Only to see me

Ask mercy from death,

And every pain added.

Also, no one ever

Said death in my 

Heart is a hurt

Heart, that goes around

Cruelly talking about

Love, that increases my

Worries, breathlessly, there where

I lost all courage.

At that accursed point, 

Love was born in

Like manner, that,

My proud life was 

So, pleasing to him.

The Eyes Of That Gentle Woman

The eyes of that

Gentle woman have

Distressed my mind.

No one else, only

Her, I desire. She

Wounds me yes, when

I look at her, that

I feel a sigh

Tremble in my

Heart. Leaving her

Eyes, there where I

Burn, a very gentle

Spirit of love, which

Is full of so much

Courage, that when

It reaches me, my

Soul departs like

One that suffers in exile.

Then I hear circling

Around me sighs, when

Her mind reasons with

Me: and the air

Starts raining martyrs that

Draw pains from me.

Yes, every virtue abandons

Me in a way

Unknown to me there.

It seems that death

Moves her to mercy.

Yes, I feel undone, 

Mercy doesn’t dare

Enter my thoughts: I 

Find love, who says:

She is so gentle,

You can’t imagine it.

No man on earth 

Would dare look at

Her unless he wishes

To tremble: and if

I look at her

I’ll die. Ballad, when

You’re in the presence

Of this gentle woman,

So that you can

Tell her about my

Anguished pains, say:

The one who sends

Me is very anxious

And he says, he

Has no hope of

Finding pity in so

Much courtesy that he

Could ever accompany you.

I Can From My Eyes

I can, from my

Eyes, tell you new

Tidings, that are so

Pleasing to the heart,

That in sweetness love

Sighs. This new pleasure

That my heart feels, 

Was caused only by 

Seeing a woman that

Is so gentle and

Beautiful, and so adorned

That the heart greets

Her: her beauty can’t

Be known by vile

People: her colors call

The intellect to great

Courage. I see, that

In her eyes shines

The virtue of love

So gentle, that every

Sweet delight I comprehend:

And moves then a

Subtle soul, respect for

Which every other is

Vile; and it’s not

Possible to judge her,

Other than to say,

This is a new

Splendor. Go ballad, and

Find this woman and

Ask for mercy, that

Her eyes full of

Pity will move toward 

You, for all faith

Rests in her; and

If she grants you

Grace, in a happy

Voice she will demonstrate

She has done you honor.

A Woman Asks Me

A woman asks me,

That’s why I speak 

Of an accident that 

Is often bold and

Awe-inspiring and it’s

Called love: those who

Deny it, hear the truth

Presently, knowing, 

I have no hope of

Reasoning with base hearted

People without practical demonstration:

Nor, do I have

The talent to prove

Where it lives, who 

Created it, what its 

Virtue is, its potency

And essence, what its

Movements are, the pleasure

That makes a person

Say, love, and if

A person, seeing, can

Motion toward it.

Love was established

In that place where

Memory is and is

Formed like a veil

Light. It comes from

The darkness where

Mars is and remains, 

Is created there and

Has a sensate name.

From soul has form,

From heart, will. Comes

From seen form and

Intends, in possible intellect,

Like in a subject,

Place and location, but

It has no weight

Because it doesn’t descend

From quality: resplendent in

Its perpetual effects; takes

No delight except in

Consideration; it doesn’t scatter

Its likeness about. It

Is not virtue, but

From there it comes, which

Is perfection. So established,

Not rational, but through

Feeling, I say; beyond

Well-being, maintaining justice;

Values intention for reason’s

Sake: poor in discernment,

It is vice’s friend.

From its power death 

Often follows; it is

Strong where virtue opposes 

It, thus, it runs

Counter to the way:

Not because it opposes 

Nature’s course, but twisted

Away from perfection by

Fate; no one can

Say, once established, 

Its grace and likewise,

Its value, though people

Forget.

Love comes to be

When will is great.

From nature’s measure it

Turns, never adorning itself

With rest. Moves, changes

Color, laughing through tears,

Contorts the face with

Fear; rarely resting, you’ll

Find it most in

People of courage; its

Strange quality moves one

To sighing and makes 

One stare in to formless

Space, arousing there

A quality that moves a

Flame, (no one can

Imagine it that hasn’t

Experienced it), it doesn’t

Move, yet draws all

Toward it and it

Doesn’t turn about looking

To play games: nor,

Searching for things great

Or small. From similarity

It draws a glance that 

Makes pleasure appear

Certain: nor, can

It be hidden when

It’s joined. Not wild,

But beauty’s arrow; desire,

Through fear, is perfected:

Following merit, spirit’s arrow.

It can’t be known

From the face. Comprised

Of whiteness fallen upon

Objects; listening deep, form

Unseen: following from what

Proceeds. Outside of color, 

Divided being amidst darkness.

Spreading light. Beyond falsity.

Worthy of faith, I say.

Only from it…is

Mercy born.

You can, surely, go

Song wherever you please,

I have adorned you

So much, your reasoning

Will be understood by

Those who want to

Understand: and to stay

With the others you

no desire.