Classic Poem

I will make a new song before the wind and the frost and the rain come; my lady tries and proves me to find how I love her; but never for the quarrels she lays on me will I break from her bonds.
Nay, I yield me to her and she may write me in her charter. And think not that I am mad if I love my perfect lady, for without her I cannot live, so much do I hunger for her love.
You are whiter than ivory, wherefore I love none but you. If I have no succour soon and if my perfect lady does not love me, I shall die, by St Gregory's head! unless she kisses me in bower or under bough.
What gain have you, fair lady, if you drive me from your love? You seem as if you wished to be a nun! Know then that I love you so that I fear I shall die of grief unless you heal the wrongs whereof I plain.
What gain have you if I become a monk, and if you do not keep me yours? All the joy of the world is ours, lady, if we love each other. Say to my friend Daurostre there that he sings and does not bawl this.
For her I tremble and quiver since I love her with so great a love; for I deem that none like her was ever born of Adam's line!