Dafydd ap Gwilym
Translated from Welsh by Joseph P. Clancy
Passion doubles me over,
Plague take all the parish girls,
Because, frustrated trysting,
I've not had a single one,
Not lovely longed-for virgin,
Not a wench or witch or wife.
What's the hindrance, what mischief,
What flaw, that I'm not desired?
What harm if a slim-browed girl
Has me in a dark forest?
No shame for her to see me
Lying in a bed of leaves.
Not a time I wasn't loving,
Never's been so binding a spell
Surpassing Garwy's passion,
One or two each single day,
And for all that, no nearer
To finding a friendly one.
No Sunday in Llanbadarn
I'd not be, as some would swear,
Facing a dainty maiden,
The nape of my neck to God.
And when I've long looked over
The parish across my plume,
Says one radiant clear-voiced dear
To her pert pretty neighbor:
'That lad pale-faced as a flirt,
Decked in his sister's tresses,
Lascivious are his eyes'
Slanting glances: he's shameless.'
'Is that what he had in mind?'
Says the one who is next her,
'He'll never have an answer:
To the devil, foolish thing.'
Cruel the bright girl's cursing,
Poor pay for a love-dazed man.
I'm compelled to call a halt
To these ways, to such nightmares.
I'm forced to become like one
Who's a hermit, an outlaw.
Too much looking, stern lesson,
Behind me, a sorry sight,
Leaves me, lover of strong song,
Head bowed, with no companion.
