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The servants of Summer have come
to prepare his residence
and have hung his tapestries
woven from flowers and green leaves.

Spreading thick carpets
of green grass over the land,
The servants of Summer have come.

Hearts long sunken in misery,
Thank God, are now healed and gay.
Go away, find another realm,
Winter, you live here no longer,
The servants of Summer have come!


I was blossom in my childhood,
But before I could come to fruition
I was knocked, green and unripe from the tree
Of Plaisance by my mistress Folly;
Therefore Reason who redresses everything
At her pleasure, without rong or misprision,
Rightly in her very great wisdom
Set me to ripen in the straw of prison.

Here I have stayed since that time,
Not allowed to soar into freedom;
I am content and think without doubt
That is is for the best, although disuse
Has cuased me to become wrinkled witha ge.
The torch of foolish desire has almost
Burned out in me since I have been stored away,
Set to ripen in the straw of prison.

God give us peace, for that is my desire!
Then the waters of Delight with soon
Refresh me and the sunlight of France
Clean the mould of sadness from me;
Humbly, I endure to await the Good Days,
For I hope that God will cure me;
He must have intended this when He
Set me to ripen in the straw of prison.

I am a winter fruit, less tender
Than Summer fruit, so I am kept in store
To soften, to become less green and hard
Set to ripen in the straw of prison.


In the forest of Long Awaiting,
Riding by varying pathways
I set out this present year
On the journey of Desire.
My stewards have gone on ahead
To prepare my lodging
In the city of Destiny,
And they have taken for me and my heart,
The hostelry of Thought.

I bring with me forty horses
And enough for my officials,
In fact, by God, more than sixty
Withouth the pack animals and the mules.
We shall need quarters about the town
If the inns are too small;
However for one evening,
For better or for worse, I shall gladly accept
The hostelry of Thought.

Prince, true God of Paradise,
Bestow Your grace upon me,
That I may find, as I desire,
The hostelry of Thought.


News has travelled in France
In various places that I am dead;
Some were hardly displeased by this,
Those who hate me unfairly;
Others have been discomforted
Whop are loyal and love me
As good and true friends.
So I am letting everyone know.
The mouse is still alive!

I have been neither ill nor in pain,
Thank God, but hale and strong,
And pass the time hoping
That peace too long asleep,
Will wake and by accord
Give everyone cause to rejoice.
So my God curse those
Who are saddened to see
That the mouse is still alive!

Youth still holds me
But age is making the effort
To take me in charge.
Her attempt will fail now.
I am far away from her port
And wish to save my heir from tears;
Praised be God in Paradise
Who has given me strength and power
That the mouse is still alive!

No one should wear black for me,
Grey can be bought more cheaply;
Everyone must know that it is true
That the mouse is still alive!



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