Wooing a Noble Girl

	Dyddgu of faultless accomplishments,

	my love, brightness of a lamp,

	Treacherous and furtive desire,

4	indeed, was mine there.

	Lady with teeth bright as snow,

	wooing you led to sickness.

	I am not a man who will never seek

8	to win the daughter of a lord with straight spear.

	I climbed too high up there,

	some say, when I sang [your] praise.

	A climbing animal is reckless,

12	it climbs a tree boldly like a champion

	until it eventually reaches

	the uppermost branches (serves it right).

	From there it will be difficult to descend

16	for fear of suffering grief.

	I am described (a man whose labour is in vain,

	familiar fate) in just the same way.

	An archer shoots all sorts of useless shots,

20	missing the target completely,

	and then one perfect shot

	on target, and he did well.

	A chance shot out of a hundred

24	would succeed, noble girl.

	[It would be] a chance shot, fine–browed maid,

	fair gentle jewel, for me tol win you.

	When sailors get a favourable wind,

28	going on their journey by tacking,

	there is no more than an inch (sad aspect of mishap)

	of a worn flimsy plank

	between them and the open depths,

32	oarsmen, amazing mariners.

	And [yet] they come to the shore

	after their journey, good omen.

	And for that reason, my renowned treasure,

36	my hope is not bad, nor is it a matter of hardship.

	Perhaps, girl of the colour of snow and flour,

	I will win you, fine dark brow.

	Perhaps, all in vain,

40	I will not win you. Happy would be he who does.

	If I don't win you by mighty everlasting song,

	girl in the full bloom of youth,

	I will win you, my tender–faced girl,

44	when no one else wants you.