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When Y se blosmes springe: text and translation
London, British Library, Harley MS 2253, f. 76r



When Y se blosmes springe
Ant here foules song,
A suete loue-longynge
Myn herte thourhout stong,


When I see flowers come into bloom
And hear birdsong,
A sweet desire for love
Has pierced right through my heart,

Al for a loue newe
That is so suete ant trewe,
That gladieth al my song;
Ich wot al myd iwisse
My ioie ant eke my blisse
All for a new love
That is so sweet and true
It fills all my song with joy;
I know for certain
That my joy and my bliss too
10   On him is al ylong.

When Y mi selue stonde
Ant with myn eghen seo
Thurled fot ant honde
With grete nayles threo---

Depend entirely on him.

When I myself stand
And see [him] with my own eyes
Pierced through hands and feet
With three large nails---

15 Blody wes ys heued,
On him nes nout bileued
That wes of peynes freo---
Wel, wel ohte myn herte
For his loue to smerte
His head was bloodstained,
No part of him was left
That was free of sufferings---
Surely, surely my heart ought
To feel pain for his love
20 Ant sike ant sory beo.

Iesu, milde ant softe,
Yef me streynthe ant myht
Longen sore ant ofte
To louye the aryht,

And be sad and sorrowful.

Jesus, mild and gentle,
Give me the strength and power
To long deeply and often
To love you properly,

25  Pine to tholie ant dreghe
For the, [suete] Marie;
Thou art so fre ant bryht,
Mayden ant moder mylde,
For loue of thine childe,
To suffer and endure pain
For you, sweet Mary;
You are so generous and bright,
Virgin and gentle mother,
For love of your child,
30 Ernde vs heuen-lyht.

Alas, that Y ne [con]
Turne to him my thoht,
Ant cheosen him to lemmon,
So duere he vs hath yboht

Plead for the light of heaven for us.

Alas, that I cannot
Turn my thought to him,
And choose him as a lover,
He has bought us so dearly

35 With woundes deope ant stronge,
With peynes sore ant longe---
Of loue ne conne we noht.
His blod that fel to grounde
Of hise suete wounde
With deep and cruel wounds,
With severe and extended sufferings---
We understand nothing about love.
His blood, which fell to the ground
From his sweet wounds
40 Of peyne vs hath [ybroht].

Iesu, milde ant suete,
Y synge the mi song;
Ofte Y the grete
Ant preye the among.

Has brought us out of punishment.

Jesus, mild and sweet,
I sing you my song;
Often I salute you
And pray to you in between.

45  Let me sunnes lete,
Ant in this lyue bete
That Ich haue do wrong;
At oure lyues ende,
When [we] shule wende,
Let me abandon sins
And atone in this life
For what I have done wrong;
At the end of our life,
When we must depart,
50 Iesu, vs vnde[r]fong! AMEN.

Jesus, receive us! AMEN.

Set up by Bella Millett, enm@soton.ac.uk. Last updated 31 July 2003 .