In den tiden dat die rosen
In den tiden dat die rosen
tounen manech scone blat,
so vloeket men den blidelosen
die wroegere siin ane maneger stat,
want sie der minnen siin gehat
ende den minneren gerne nosen.
van den bosen moete Got ons losen !
Men darf den bosen niewet vloeken.
hen wirt dicke onsachte wé,
want sie warden ende loeken
alse dé sprenket in den sné.
des siin sie vele die mere gevé,
doch ne darf es nieman roeken,
want sie soeken peren op den boeken.
In the season that the roses
In the season that the roses
many a fine leaf do display,
one does curse the host of joyless
whose wrath waxes every day,
who from hatred love would slay
and would harm love’s faithful servants.
God preserve us from such perverts!
Such folk there’s no point decrying,
since their ire will bring them woe,
for they lurk there always spying,
laying bird-traps under snow.
But the thrush by then is flown.
Their efforts are in vain, love teaches,
as they reach for pears in beeches.
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