About

I kept to myself harshly
And hated frolicking
And fled the company
Of those who led happy lives;
In nothing did it matter to me,
That to my mind, ’twas all the same
To do something very dreadful
As to do a kindness.
Love didn’t love me nor did I love it,
And so I resembled him
Who is compared to an old tree stump
Which in a rising tide lies low
And which is so covered o’er
That no one can work it free
No one can pull it out from there
From the water that has covered it.

-Guillaume de Machaut