Guillaume de Poitiers

The old French poets of the Middle Ages are great to try--they have an otherworldly mystique about them. For example, Guillaume de Poitiers ie. William/Guillem IX aka 'The Troubador' [1071-1127] was a famous poet. Here's an excerpt from his "Ab la dolchor del temps novel" ['The Sweetness of Renewal'], read more Troubadour poetry here or look at a full scan of an old 1913 book of his work here, it's really neat to see--also try glancing at France and Its Poets, a great short collection to try if you want to enjoy more medieval poetry:

Out of the sweetness of the spring,

The branches leaf, the small birds sing,

Each one chanting in its own speech,

Forming the verse of its new song,

Then is it good a man should reach

For that for which he most does long.

[...]

This love of ours it seems to be

Like a twig on a hawthorn tree

That on the tree trembles there

All night, in rain and frost it grieves,

Till morning, when the rays appear

Among the branches and the leaves.

So the memory of that dawn to me

When we ended our hostility,

And a most precious gift she gave,

Her loving friendship and her ring:

Let me live long enough, I pray,

Beneath her cloak my hand to bring.



Ab la dolchor del temps novel
foillo li bosc, e li auchel 
chanton, chascus en lor lati,
segon lo vers del novel chan;
adonc esta ben c'om s'aisi
d'acho don hom a plus talan.

[...]
La nostr' amor vai enaissi
com la branca de l'albespi
qu'esta sobre l'arbre tremblan,
la nuoit, a la ploia ez al gel,
tro l'endeman, que.l sols s'espan
per la fuella vert e.l ramel.

Equer me membra d'un mati
que nos fezem de guerra fi,
e que.m donet un don tan gran,
sa drudari' e son anel:
equer me lais Dieus viure tan
c'aia mas manz soz so mantel.