What a game we make
Of such manners,
Both sweet and proud,
According to the seasons!
In fields or houses,
Through woods and rivers,
What a game we make
Of such manners!
At times we fall silent,
Holding quite dear
Our joyful dear ones,
Then we grow calm.
What a game we make!
Charles D’Orléans
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-what-a-game-we-make-of-it-charles-d-orleans/
