Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN THE VALE OF RESTLESS MIND by ANONYMOUS

Last Line: "THY MEED IS MARKED, WHAN THOU ART MORT / IN BLISS; QUIA AMORE LANGUEO"
In the vale of restless mind
I sought in mountain and in mead,
Trusting a true love for to find.
Upon an hill then took I heed;
A voice I heard -- and near I yede --
In great dolour complaining tho:
"See, dear soul, my sides bleed,
Quia amore langueo.
Upon this mount I found a tree;
Under this tree a man sitting;
From head to foot wounded was he,
His hearte-blood I saw bleeding;
A seemly man to be a king
A gracious man to look unto.
I asked him how he had paining.
He said: "Quia amore langueo.
"I am true love that false was never:
My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus;
Because I would on no wise dissever,
I left my kingdom glorious;
I purveyed her a place full precious;
She flit; I followed; I loved her so
That I suffered these paines piteous,
Quia amore langueo.
"My fair love and my spouse bright,
I saved her fro beating and she hath me bet;
I clothed her in grace and heavenly light,
This bloody surcote she hath on me set.
For longing love I will not let;
Sweete strokes be these, lo!
I have loved her ever as I het,
Quia amore langueo.
"I crowned her with bliss, and she me with thorn;
I led her to chamber, and she me to die;
I brought her to worship, and she me to scorn;
I did her reverence, and she me villainy.
To love that loveth is no maistry;
Her hate made never my love her foe
Ask then no mo questions why,
Quia amore langueo.
"Look unto mine handes, man!
These gloves were given me when I her sought;
They be not white, but red and wan,
Embroidered with blood, my spouse them bought;
They will not off, I leave them nought,
I woo her with them wherever she go;
These hands full friendly for her fought,
Quia amore langueo.
"Marvel not, man, though I sit still;
My love hath shod me wonder strait;
She buckled my feet, as was her will,
With sharpe nails -- well thou mayst wait!
In my love was never deceit,
For all my members I have opened her to;
My body I made her heartes bait,
Quia amore langueo.
"In my side I have made her nest;
Look in me how wide a wound is here!
This is her chamber, here shall she rest,
That she and I may sleep in fere.
Here may she wash, if any filth were,
Here is succour for all her woe;
Come if she will, she shall have cheer,
Quia amore langueo.
"I will abide till she be ready,
I will her sue if she say nay;
If she be reckeless, I will be ready,
If she be dangerous, I will her pray.
If she do weep, then bid I nay;
Mine arms be spread to clip her me to;
Cry ones: I come. Now, soul, assay!
Quia amore langueo.
"I sit on an hill for to see far,
I look to the vale; my spouse I see:
Now runs she awayward, now comes she nearer,
Yet fro mine eye-sight she may not be.
Some wait their prey to make her flee;
I run tofore to chastise her foe.
Recover, my soul, again to me,
Quia amore langueo.
"My sweete spouse, will we go play?
Apples be ripe in my gardene
I shall clothe thee in new array,
Thy meat shall be milk, honey, and wine.
Now, dear soul, let us go dine,
Thy sustenance is in my scrippe, lo!
Tarry not now, fair spouse mine,
Quia amore langueo.
"If thou be foul, I shall make thee clean;
If thou be sick, I shall thee heal,
If thou ought mourn, I shall bemene.
Spouse, why wilt thou nought with me deal?
Thou foundest never love so leal;
What wilt thou, soul, that I shall do?
I may of unkindness thee appeal,
Quia amore langueo.
"What shall I do now with my spouse?
Abide I will her gentleness.
Would she look ones out of her house
Of fleshly affections and uncleanness,
Her bed is made, her bolster is bliss,
Her chamber is chosen, such are no mo.
Look out at the windows of kindness,
Quia amore langueo.
"Long and love thou never so high,
Yet is my love more than thine may be;
Thou gladdest, thou weepest, I sit thee by;
Yet might thou, spouse, look ones at me!
Spouse, should I always feede thee
With childes meat? Nay, love, not so!
I prove thy love with adversity,
Quia amore langueo.
"My spouse is in chamber, hold your peace;
Make no noise, but let her sleep.
My babe shall suffer no disease,
I may not hear my dear child weep;
For with my pap I shall her keep.
No wonder though I tend her to:
This hole in my side had never been so deep,
But quia amore langueo.
"Wax not weary, mine own dear wife:
What meed is aye to live in comfort?
For in tribulation I run more rife
Oftentimes than in disport;
In wealth, in woe, ever I support,
Then, dear soul, go never me fro!
Thy meed is marked, when thou art mort,
In bliss; Quia amore langueo.







Home: PoetryExplorer.net