this is a stanza in the medieval french epic chanson de roman (song of romance) titled Aucassin et Nicolette. it is so stunningly beautiful i feel compelled to translate it in this thread so everyone (mostly my girlfriend) can read it. 1/?

now it is sung.
“sir king of Torelore,”
said the beauty Nichole,
“you may think me a fool:
when my love embraces me
and feels me softly and tenderly,
then i am at such a school (french idiom)
ball nor dance nor sweet chorale,
or harp, viol, or violin,
nor the pleasures...... 2/3

nor the pleasures of Nimpole
are worth a thing to me.
.
gonna translate a stanza from this poem every day, and i’ll do it on this thread. fuck it.