A thousand times I have heard it said that in heaven is joy and in hell pain; and I grant well that it is so. Nevertheless, I know this well, that there is no person dwelling in this land who has been in either hell or heaven, or who can know of them in any other way than as he has heard tell or found it written, for no person can put his knowledge to the test. But God forbid but men should believe far more than they have seen with their eyes! A man shall not deem all things false because he has not beheld them since long ago. God knows, a thing is nonetheless true even if every creature cannot see it. Even Bernard the monk saw not all things, by God! 16
Then in all reason must we give credence to these books, through which ancient things are kept in mind, and to the instruction of these sages from ancient times, and believe in these old, approved histories of holiness, of kingdoms, of victories, of love, hate, and various other things that I cannot now recount. And if old books were all gone, then the key of remembrance would be lost. Well ought we then to believe old books, where there is no other test by experience. 28
As for me, though my wit may be little, I delight to read in books and revere them in my heart. In them I have such joy and faith, that there is scarcely any activity to draw me from my books, unless it would be some festival or else the lovely time of May. But when I hear the little birds singing, and when the flowers begin to spring, then farewell to my studies for that season! 39
Now I have also this disposition, that of all the flowers in the meadow I most love those white and red flowers, which men in our town call daisies. I have such affection for them, as I have said, that when May has arrived, no day dawns upon me in my bed, but I am up and walking in the meadow to see these flowers opening to the sun when it rises, in the bright morning, and through the long day thus I walk in the green. 50
That blissful sight softens all my sorrow, so glad I am for it, when I am in the presence of it, to give reverence to her. And I love it, and continually do, and ever shall, until my heart should die. I swear all this; I will not lie about this; no creature ever loved so passionately in his life. All day long I wait for nothing else, and I shall not lie, but to look upon the daisy, that well by reason people may call it the "day's-eye," or else the "eye of day," the empress and flower of all flowers. (52-60F)
And when the sun draws toward the west, then they close and take them to slumber until the morning when the day comes, so sorely they fear the night. This daisy, flower of all flowers, filled with all excellence and honor, always and alike fair and lusty of hue, fresh in winter as well as in summer, gladly would I praise it if I properly could. But I am filled with woe, for it lies not in my power! 60
For well I know that people have reaped the field of poetry before me and have harvested the corn. I come after, gleaning here and there, and am very glad if perhaps I find an ear of any goodly words that they have left behind. And if I chance to recount again what they have said in their lusty songs, I hope that they will not be displeased, since all is said in furthering and worship of them who are followers of either the leaf or flower; 70 but offer help, you who have knowledge and power, you lovers who can write about emotions. (68-69F)
For trust well, I have not undertaken to sing in honor of the leaf against the flower, or of the flower against the leaf, any more than of the wheat against the chaff. For to me neither is dearer; as yet I am retained by neither. I know not who serves the leaf, who the flower; that is in no way the object of my labor. For this work is all drawn out of another cask, of ancient story, before there was any such strife. 80
She is the brightness and the true light that in this dark world leads and directs me. The heart within my sorrowful breast fears and loves you so sorely that you are truly the mistress of my mind, and I am nothing. My word, my work is knit so to your service that, just as a harp obeys the hand and makes it sound according to its fingering, so too can you out of my heart bring such voice, just as you wish, to laugh or lament. Be my guide and sovereign lady! As to my earthly god I call to you as well, both in this work and in all my sorrows. (84-96F)
But the reason I spoke of giving credence to old books and revering them is that men should believe authorities in all things where there lies no other means of proof. For my intent is, before I go from you, to make known in English the naked text of many histories or many tales, just as authors tell them. Believe them if you wish. 88
When the month of May was almost gone, and I had roamed all the summer's day over the green meadow of which I have told you to gaze upon the fresh daisy, and when the sun out of the south drew towards the west, and the flower had closed and gone to sleep, for darkness of the night which she feared, I sped swiftly home to my house; and in a little shady bower that I have, newly embanked with fresh-cut turfs, I asked people to lay my couch, and flowers to be strewn on it, for joy of the new summer. When I had laid me down and closed my eyes, I fell asleep within an hour or two. 103
Then I dreamed that I was in the meadow, and was roaming about to see that flower, just as you have heard me tell. This meadow was beautiful; it seemed to me to be entirely embroidered with sweet flowers. No herbs or trees or spicy resins could compare with it; for it utterly surpassed all odors and all flowers as well for its rich beauty. The earth had forgotten his poor estate of winter, which had made him naked and dejected and with the sword of cold had struck him so sorely. 115
Now the mild sun had relieved all that, and clothed him in green all afresh. Rejoicing in the season, the little birds that had escaped the snare and the net mocked the fowler who had frightened them in winter and destroyed their brood, and eased their hearts to sing of him in scorn, and to flout the foul churl who for his greed had betrayed them with his tricks. This was their song, "The fowler we defy, and all his craft!" 127
On the branches some sang sweet songs of love and spring, in honor and praise of their mates, and for the new, joyous summer; it was a joy to listen. Upon those branches full of soft blossoms, in their delight they turned themselves often and sang, (143-44F)
A thousand times I have heard it said that in heaven is joy and in hell pain; and I grant well that it is so. Nevertheless, I know this well, that there is no person dwelling in this land who has been in either hell or heaven, or who can know of them in any other way than as he has heard tell or found it written, for no person can put his knowledge to the test. But God forbid but men should believe far more than they have seen with their eyes! A man shall not deem all things false because he has not beheld them since long ago. God knows, a thing is nonetheless true even if every creature cannot see it. Even Bernard the monk saw not all things, by God! 16
Then in all reason must we give credence to these books, through which ancient things are kept in mind, and to the instruction of these sages from ancient times, and believe in these old, approved histories of holiness, of kingdoms, of victories, of love, hate, and various other things that I cannot now recount. And if old books were all gone, then the key of remembrance would be lost. Well ought we then to believe old books, where there is no other test by experience. 28
As for me, though my wit may be little, I delight to read in books and revere them in my heart. In them I have such joy and faith, that there is scarcely any activity to draw me from my books, unless it would be some festival or else the lovely time of May. But when I hear the little birds singing, and when the flowers begin to spring, then farewell to my studies for that season! 39
Now I have also this disposition, that of all the flowers in the meadow I most love those white and red flowers, which men in our town call daisies. I have such affection for them, as I have said, that when May has arrived, no day dawns upon me in my bed, but I am up and walking in the meadow to see these flowers opening to the sun when it rises, in the bright morning, and through the long day thus I walk in the green. 50
That blissful sight softens all my sorrow, so glad I am for it, when I am in the presence of it, to give reverence to her. And I love it, and continually do, and ever shall, until my heart should die. I swear all this; I will not lie about this; no creature ever loved so passionately in his life. All day long I wait for nothing else, and I shall not lie, but to look upon the daisy, that well by reason people may call it the "day's-eye," or else the "eye of day," the empress and flower of all flowers. (52-60F)
And when the sun draws toward the west, then they close and take them to slumber until the morning when the day comes, so sorely they fear the night. This daisy, flower of all flowers, filled with all excellence and honor, always and alike fair and lusty of hue, fresh in winter as well as in summer, gladly would I praise it if I properly could. But I am filled with woe, for it lies not in my power! 60
For well I know that people have reaped the field of poetry before me and have harvested the corn. I come after, gleaning here and there, and am very glad if perhaps I find an ear of any goodly words that they have left behind. And if I chance to recount again what they have said in their lusty songs, I hope that they will not be displeased, since all is said in furthering and worship of them who are followers of either the leaf or flower; 70 but offer help, you who have knowledge and power, you lovers who can write about emotions. (68-69F)
For trust well, I have not undertaken to sing in honor of the leaf against the flower, or of the flower against the leaf, any more than of the wheat against the chaff. For to me neither is dearer; as yet I am retained by neither. I know not who serves the leaf, who the flower; that is in no way the object of my labor. For this work is all drawn out of another cask, of ancient story, before there was any such strife. 80
She is the brightness and the true light that in this dark world leads and directs me. The heart within my sorrowful breast fears and loves you so sorely that you are truly the mistress of my mind, and I am nothing. My word, my work is knit so to your service that, just as a harp obeys the hand and makes it sound according to its fingering, so too can you out of my heart bring such voice, just as you wish, to laugh or lament. Be my guide and sovereign lady! As to my earthly god I call to you as well, both in this work and in all my sorrows. (84-96F)
But the reason I spoke of giving credence to old books and revering them is that men should believe authorities in all things where there lies no other means of proof. For my intent is, before I go from you, to make known in English the naked text of many histories or many tales, just as authors tell them. Believe them if you wish. 88
When the month of May was almost gone, and I had roamed all the summer's day over the green meadow of which I have told you to gaze upon the fresh daisy, and when the sun out of the south drew towards the west, and the flower had closed and gone to sleep, for darkness of the night which she feared, I sped swiftly home to my house; and in a little shady bower that I have, newly embanked with fresh-cut turfs, I asked people to lay my couch, and flowers to be strewn on it, for joy of the new summer. When I had laid me down and closed my eyes, I fell asleep within an hour or two. 103
Then I dreamed that I was in the meadow, and was roaming about to see that flower, just as you have heard me tell. This meadow was beautiful; it seemed to me to be entirely embroidered with sweet flowers. No herbs or trees or spicy resins could compare with it; for it utterly surpassed all odors and all flowers as well for its rich beauty. The earth had forgotten his poor estate of winter, which had made him naked and dejected and with the sword of cold had struck him so sorely. 115
Now the mild sun had relieved all that, and clothed him in green all afresh. Rejoicing in the season, the little birds that had escaped the snare and the net mocked the fowler who had frightened them in winter and destroyed their brood, and eased their hearts to sing of him in scorn, and to flout the foul churl who for his greed had betrayed them with his tricks. This was their song, "The fowler we defy, and all his craft!" 127
On the branches some sang sweet songs of love and spring, in honor and praise of their mates, and for the new, joyous summer; it was a joy to listen. Upon those branches full of soft blossoms, in their delight they turned themselves often and sang, (143-44F)
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