Ab l'alen tie vas me l'aire
Qu'eu sen venir de Proensa:
Tot quant es de lai m'agensa,
Si que quan n'aug ben retraire,
Eu m' o escout en rizen
E·n deman per un mot cen:
Tan m'es bel quan n'aug ben dire.
Qu'om no sap tam dous repaire
Com de Rozer tro qu'a Vensa,
Si com clau mars e Durensa,
Ni on tan fis jois s'esclaire.
Pre qu'entre la franca gen
Ai laissat mon cor jauzen
Ab leis que fa·ls iratz rire.
Qu'om no pot lo jorn maltraire
Qu'aja de leis sovinensa,
Qu'en leis nais jois e comensa.
E qui qu'en sia lauzaire,
De ben qu'en diga noi men;
Que·l melher es ses conten
E·l genser qu'el mon se mire (...) |
With my breath I take in the air,
That I feel coming from Provence:
All that comes from her lifts my spirits,
And when I hear her spoken well of,
I listen and smile
And for one word I ask one hundred:
It pleases me so to hear her spoken well of.
For no one knows of a land
as sweet
As that from the Rhone to Vence,
And between the sea and the Durance,
Nowhere does joy shine so pure.
So in this kind and noble place
I left my joyous heart
With she who smiles on the aggrieved.
For one cannot feel pain on the day
When one has thought of her,
She in whom joy is born and begins.
And whoever should praise her,
Let him speak well and lie not;
For she is without question the greatest
And most beautiful to be seen in the world. |
