No more than one could count the stars
when one sees them shining at their brightest,
nor drops of rain and the waves of the sea,
nor the sands of the shore along which it stretches,
nor measure out the circle of the firmament,
could one imagine or conceive
the great desire I have of seeing you.

And if I cannot come before you
by Fortune, who gives and withholds her leave,
wherefore I must smother many a sigh
when I think of you and am in company.
And when I am alone in secrecy
then it makes me suffer every ill,
the great desire I have of seeing you.

For it makes me complain and grieve,
and long for your noble countenance,
and your sovereign and peerless goodness,
and the immense sweetness that results from it
Thus it makes me languish pitiably,
seizes my heart and quenches my hope,
the great desire I have of seeing you.

Guillaume de Machaut: Ballade 33

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