LE BEAU SOULEIL, LE JOUR SAINT VALENTIN ...BALLADE - ST, VALENTINE'S DAY
Charles, Duc d'Orléanstr. James Kirkup (tanka)
Le beau souleil, le jour saint Valentin,
Qui apportoit sa chandelle alumee,
N'a pas longtemps entra un bien matin
Priveement en ma chambre fermee.
Celle clarté qu'il avoit apportee,
Si m'esveilla du somme de soussy
Ou j'avoye toute la nuit dormy
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.



Ce jour aussi, pour partir leur butin
Les biens d'Amours, faisoient assemblee
Tous les oyseaulx qui, parlans leur latin,
Crioyent fort, demandans la livree
Que Nature leur avoit ordonnee
C'estoit d'un per* comme chascun choisy.
Si ne me peu rendormir, pour leur cry,
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.



Lors en moillant de larmes mon coessin
Je regrettay ma dure destinee,
Disant: "Oyseaulx, je vous voy en chemin
De tout plaisir et joye desiree.
Chascun de vous a per qui lui agree,
Et point n'en ay, car Mort, qui m'a trahy,
A prins mon per dont en dueil je languy
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee."



ENVOI

Saint Valentin choisissent ceste annee
Ceulx et celles de l'amoureux party.
Seul me tendray, de confort desgarny,
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.


(*) compagnon

Saint Valentine's Day -
the brave sun with his lighted
candle entered just
a while ago this morning
my locked room, like an old friend.
The radiance he brought
had wakened me from troubled
slumbers binding me
all the long night through upon
my hard couch of chagrined thought.

This very morn, all
the birds held convocations
to claim each his due
of love's rewards, in his own
tongue noisily demanding
the reward Nature
had promised - a sister soul -
each choosing his own:
their racket kept me awake
on my hard couch of chagrined thought.

Drenching my pillow
with tears, lamenting my sad
destiny, I cried:
"You birds, I hear you prepare
your joys and pleasures with
the one you find sweet!
I alone have none, for Death
robbed me of the one
I loved - so languish, mourning,
on my hard couch of chagrined thought.


ENVOY

Saint Valentine's Day -
that all lovers celebrate -
This year, I must lie
alone, none to console me,
on my hard couch of chagrined thought.



Click here 1 for another translation of this poem.

Trans. Copyright: James Kirkup 2002


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