University of Virginia Library

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181

THE SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR

PIERRE RAYMOND DE TOULOUSE.

I know the woods in spring, I know
The voices of the breeze and brook;
I know the little flowers that look
With starry eyes upturned, and grow
Through all the rapture that the bird
Flings down, with quiet hearts unstirred;
The joy above, the calm below,

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182

The thrill that passes, and the slow,
Sweet stealing silence, these I know.

Ye say my song is sweet; I know
My song is sweet! Ye call me proud,
A careless-hearted singer, slow
To gather praises from the crowd.
Yet praise me if ye will! in cold
Set phrase, with others standing by.
With gracious smile and voice unmoved,
One told me once that she approved

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183

The strain I sang; my looks were shy,
But from that hour my song grew bold;
I saw her blush, I heard her sigh;
Enough, enough, if so approved!

Oh! softly as she spoke that word,
What songs it woke within my breast!
As when a warm wind from the west
Shakes all the summer thicket stirred
With breezy rapture and unrest:
Of all that gives delight I sing,
Of all that lightly comes and goes
In bud and bloom and withering
Of last year's flowers, of last year's snows;
Of many a pleasant tale outworn
I sing! of forest alleys green,
And lovers underneath the thorn
That met; of many a maid forlorn,
And robber fierce, and wandering queen;
Of knights upon a glorious quest,
And lovely ladies, long ago
Of each bold heart beloved the best,
And near the hearts that loved them, low

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184

Long laid and lapped in quiet rest;
I sing of banner and of crest,
Of lifted lance, of ringing shield;
I sing the tourney's mimic field,
In crowded lists the shock, the stir,
I sing of her, I sing of her!