After a long opening figure on "les," mostly in oblique motion of the discantus over the lower voices, a quick stepwise major third descent "les tres doulx yeux" sets the piece in motion. The love-agony latent is instantly discernible—in Binchois, so restrained, that sharp major third descent is almost violent; its energy projects forward across the whole phrase, and is answered by the melisma at the cadence. Sometimes the countertenor begins a gesture before the discantus re-enters, after which it naturally withdraws again into an accompanying role; the sense of play across the voices is unusually strong and continues throughout, unabated, in a highly imitative contrapuntal style.

One of the remarkable qualities of Binchois' music, as evidenced here, is his flowing, natural line that contains a gently expressed, but poignant, lonesome melancholy. Among twentieth century composers, his closest spiritual peer is doubtlessly Erik Satie. The latter was aptly described as "a gentle, medieval musician"; the chasm of time and idiom separating them notwithstanding, they seem sometimes as close as brothers.

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