Lo Temps és Tal - Raimon

Lo temps és tal que tot animal brut

Requer amor, cascun trobant son par:

Lo cervo brau sent en lo bosc bramar

E son fer bram per dolç can’t és tengut;

Agrons e corbs han melodia tanta

Que llur semblant, delitant, enamora

Lo rossinyol de tal cas s’entrenyora

Si lo seu can’t sa enamorada espanta

E doncs, si em dolc, lo dolre m'és degut

Com veig amats menys de poder amar

E lo grosser per apte veig passar:

Amor lo fa ésser no conegut

E d’açò em ve piadosa complanta

Com desamor eixorba ma senyora

No coneixent lo servent qui l’adora

Ne vol pensar qual és s’amor ne quanta

No com aquell qui son bé ha perdut

Metent a risc si poria guanyar

He vós amat que em volguésseu amar:

Deliberat no só en amor vengut

Tot nuu me trop, vestit de grossa manta:

Ma voluntat, amor la té en penyora

E ço de què mon cor se adolora

És com no veu ma fretura, que és tanta

Llir entre cards, ab milans caç la ganta

I ab lo branxet la llebre corredora:

Assats al món cascuna és vividora

E mon pit flac lo passi de Rams canta

The weather is such that every animal is dirty

It takes love, each finding its match:

The wild deer can be heard bellowing in the forest

And it's a dream to make you cry because you can't be sweet;

Agrons and crows have so much melody

That their likeness, delightful, makes you fall in love

The nightingale of such a case is longing

If you can't be in love it scares you

And so, if I suffer, the pain is due to me

As I see loved ones less than able to love

And the coarse for fit I see pass:

Love makes it unknown

And this makes me pious complacent

How heartbreak consumes my lady

Not knowing the servant who worships him

He doesn't want to think what love is or how much

Not like he who sleeps well has lost

Risking if I could win

I loved you that you wanted to love me:

Deliberate not only in sold love

All nuu me trop, dressed in a thick blanket:

My will, love has it in pledge

And it hurts my heart

It's like he doesn't see my bruise, which is so big

Lying among thistles, with kites hunting the gant

And with the branch the running hare:

Roasted in the home world is lively

And my skinny chest the passi de Rams sings