I have discovered this fourteenth century English poem thanks to a post by +Tom Hillman and decided to attempt a Quenya translation. The flow and rhymes are nowhere near the original but perhaps I shall be able to refine it later.

Ilya nairenya  Hrív’ ekkuita ,
Sí olassie óla parna;
Lillume siquin, nainan íta
Í mittasse indonyanna
P’ alasse ilúvéva, manen vanyas i kúmanna.
 
Sí nasse, ta sí lasse,
Quíta kéla  éne, naite.
Síve rimbe quete, tambe nasse:
Ilqua vanya, Indóme hequa,
Firuvalme illi, ké men úmára.
 
Illi laimar i álar laike
Sintuvar sí aqua, naike,
Hanyuvantes, Yésus, kare,
Ar ulkullo áme rehta!
An la istan manna menin, var  sinome manna lemyan.

-----

Wynter wakeneth al my care,
Nou this leves waxeth bare;
Ofte I sike ant mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoght
Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.

Nou hit is, and nou hit nys,
Also hit ner nere, ywys;
That moni mon seith, soth hit ys:
Al goth bote Godes wille:
Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.

Al that gren me graueth grene,
Nou hit faleweth al by dene:
Jesu, help that hit be sene
Ant shild us from helle!
For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.

-----

Winter awakens all my sorrow,
Now the leaves grow bare.
Often I sigh and mourn sorely
When it comes into my thoughts
Of this world's joy, how it all goes to nothing.

Now it is, and now it is not,
As if it had never been, truly.
What many people say, it is the truth:
All passes but God's will.
We all shall die, though it please us ill.

All the grass which grows up green,
Now it fades all together.
Jesu, help this to be understood,
And shield us from hell!
For I do not know where I shall go, nor how long I shall dwell here.