Trobador Poets: Selections from the Poems of Eight Trobadors

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Chatto & Windus, 1911 - English poetry - 198 pages
 

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Page xv - O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few, Tears and kisses, that lady of yours. Rest, and be glad of the gods; but I, How shall I praise them, or how take rest? There is not room under all the sky For me that know not of worst or best, Dream or desire of the days before, Sweet things or bitterness, any more.
Page 125 - And he sang better than any man in the world. And he was one of the maddest men who ever were, for he believed to be true whatever pleased him and whatever he wanted. And making songs came to him more easily than to any other man in the world; and it was he who made the loveliest melodies and said the craziest things concerning arms and love and slandering another.
Page 33 - It of itself made to itself a lamp, And they were two in one, and one in two; How that can be, He knows who so ordains it.
Page 24 - It is no wonder that I sing better than any other singer, for my heart draws me more toward love and I am better suited to its command.
Page 70 - ... granting him a fief. The Nobility of the Middle Ages In the High Middle Ages (the period between 1000 and 1300), European society, like that of Japan during the same period, was dominated by men whose chief concern was warfare. Like the Japanese samurai, many nobles loved war. As one nobleman wrote: And well I like to hear the call of "Help" and see the wounded fall, Loudly for mercy praying, And see the dead, both great and small, Pierced by sharp spearheads one and aH.3 The men of war were...
Page xi - Prince of Blaye. And he fell in love with the Countess of Tripoli, whom he had never seen, through the praise that he heard of her from the pilgrims who came from Antioch.
Page 90 - I'aus batr'ab ram ni ah verga, Sivals a fratt, lai on non aurai oncle, Jauzirai joi, en vergier o dim cambra. Longing that my heart doth enter Cannot uprooted be by beak or nail Of slanderer, who by lies ruins his soul. Since I dare not beat him with twig or rod, At least in secret, where I have no uncle, I will have joy in orchard or in room. And when I recall the room Where to my grief 1 know no man can enter...

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