# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 1

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THE
ROMANCE OF THE ROSE
I
The famed Romance that hight the Rose, Behold! love’s art its leaves enclose.
Are dreams false or true? Full many a man hath cried amain That dreams and visions are but vain Imaginings and lies, but I Believe that they may truthfully Forecast the future; and full clear And plain this matter doth appear By that famed dream of Scipio, Whereof Macrobius long ago10 The story wrote, and stoutly he Affirmeth dreams for verity. Moreover, if one think or say That fond and foolish ’tis to pay Respect to visions, seeing that ne’er They prove them true, that man may dare To call me fool, for I avow That I dim night-tide’s warnings trow Sincerely, and believe that they, Of good and ill, to men betray20 The shadow, showing darkly all That shall in day’s clear light befall. ​A dream befell the author ’Twas in my twentieth year of age, When Love doth all young hearts engage To pay him toll, that on my bed I lay one night, as custom led. Asleep, when o’er my spirit fell A wondrous pleasant dream that well Delighted me, and nought therein I saw but what did later win 30 Fulfilment, and I now in rhyme Set forth the tale, to while your time And glad young hearts, by Love’s command. And should or swain or maid demand How that is called which now I write, I answer “The Romance” it hight, For lovers written, “of the Rose,” Which doth Love’s gentle art enclose. Good is the matter, fair and true, God grant that grace it find in view 40 Of her for whose behoof ’twas writ; Worthy of love is she, and fit, Before all other maids I swear. The fragrant name of Rose to bear.
Five years have rolled their suns away. Since in the amorous month of May I dreamed this dream: O month of joy That knows all nature to decoy To mirth and pleasure; bush and brake Alike their fresh spring raiment take 50 Of leaves that long in swaddlings lay Close shrouded from the light of day. While woods and thickets don their green Rich mantling of resplendent sheen. ​The sweetness of springtide Then earth, though old, once more grows vain. And, cheered by balmy dews and rain, Forgets her poverished drear estate ’Neath winter stern and obdurate; For pride awaketh new desire To dizen her in bright attire,60 And thereto doth she fashion quaint And fair habiliments, and paint Them o’er with tints of varying hue, Green herb, and flowers, white, red, and blue; And tricked in such gay robes I ween Old Earth loves dearly to be seen. The merry birds that silence kept While all the world ’neath winter slept, And wild winds roared, and skies were grey With rain, break forth, when cometh May,70 In lusty note, and let sweet song Proclaim their joy that winter’s wrong Is past, and now once more doth reign Sweet spring-tide o’er old earth’s domain. Then nightingales with new-born voice Through day and night make dulcet noise. While larks on high, and in the brake The woodwales, heavenly music wake; And hearkening such sweet clamour, soon Young hearts respond the amorous tune80 In this sweet season of fair spring. O dull the soul that carolling Of birds delighteth not when they The echoes wake in joyous May.
’Twas in this season of delight. When all things love as if of right, ​The Dreamer wanders forth That, lying on my bed, I dreamed Dull night was passed and dawning beamed, And, leaping from the couch, my face I washed in haste, the night to chase,90 Put on my shoes, then straightway took A silver bodkin from a book Or bodkin-case, and with a thread Engarnished it, then forthwith sped From out the town, with will to hear The woodland fowl with piping clear Give welcome to the season new. And as I went the cords I drew Basting my sleeves, all joyous I To hear the birds sing merrily100 Among the spring-tide’s burgeoning trees. Moved gently by the fragrant breeze. So to a river came I near Whose pleasant murmur struck mine ear, And soothing, past all words, did seem The rippling music of the stream. From out a moss-grown rocky bank In bubbling waves, that rose and sank With changing force, the water cool Fell clear and bright, until a pool110 It formed, meandering o’er the plain In volume less than rolls the Seine, But broader spreading as I ween. Never the eye of man hath seen A fairer sight than that which I Now gazed upon so rapturously. Awhile I stood, then in the wave, Glistening and fresh, I stooped to lave ​He comes to a walled garden My face, and saw the river-bed With smooth bright gravel stones bespread, 120 And all around, the meadows wide Were freshened by the lapping tide. Calm and serene, and bright and sweet, Was that spring morning, as my feet Along the river bank I bent. Light-hearted, heedless where I went. And hearkening, as it rolled along. The stream’s unending murmur-song.