My love, how could your heart consider
I’ve neglected you
because I did not welcome you
as you desired?

If you but knew how fast women bind
the lover whom she dreads to lose,
you would fond I chose
my actions with the hope
your love for me would sharpen as it grew.

Sweet heart, do not stop loving me,
for my heart heads nothing, only loving you.

I am a young girl
graceful and gay,
not yet fifteen when
my sweet breasts may
begin to swell;

Love should be my contemplation,
I should learn its indication,

But I am put in prison.
god’s curse be on my jailer!

Evil, villainy and sin
did he
to give up a girl like me
to a nunnery;

A wicked deed, by my faith,
the convent life will be my death
My God! For I am far too young.

Beneath my sash I feel the sweet pain.
Gods curse on him who made me a nun.

Anonymous

13^th century

Translated from Olf French  by Carol Cosman