Gentle listener, this is a tale of the heartsick singer outside the walls of the hortus conclusus.
In there my lady picks primeroles and lilyflowers, her heart a blooming rose.
But my heart sits in a cage of bone, a lark that cannot fly to peck its rose’s nectar.
I am so beset with sorrow that I must vow to leave off singing, for if she will not hear me, then my songs are but air.
…And yet, wretched as I am, I hesitate to cease my songs.
For they are air that tastes of her.
Below are the best links I can find to the medieval song lyrics included in the playlist, with translations where available. Songs are in a variety of languages, with many in medieval French.
Que Pourroit Plus [page 5]
Ma Dame, Trop Vous Mesprenés [page 7]
Pictured above: A lady picking flowers in April. MS The Hague, KB, 74 G 37a