Formes Fixes

Ballade.

I sing in praise of unrequited love.
It brings about all good things love can build
without the shame of censure from above.
Glory to my beloved's name is willed,
and any faults are recognized and killed,
every glance descending like a dove,
every touch, each word a thrilling thorn.
Sinless, the pain with which the soul is filled
is not too overwhelming to be borne.

Rondeau.

I sing of love unrequited:
glory in pain,
a hapless and vain endeavor,

a wound that must not be righted.
Torment is gain.

I sing of love unrequited:
glory in pain,

and still I am hurt when slighted,
knowing his reign
of iron will last forever.

I sing of love unrequited:
glory in pain,
a hapless and vain endeavor.

Virelai.

Unrequited love I sing.
To its sorrows, I will cling,
revel in its sudden sting,
struggle on its sharpened hook.

I will gasp and let it fling
each gift I bring.
I will read it like a book,

fly along, as if on wing,
upon its swing,
falling on the earth it shook.

All the world's a spinning sling,
as I pierce the fairy ring,
gazing on my noble king,
worshiping his gentle look.

Unrequited love I sing.
To its sorrows, I will cling,
revel in its sudden sting,
struggle on its sharpened hook.