My blog has moved!

You should be automatically redirected in 6 seconds. If not, visit
and update your bookmarks.

Friday, December 25, 2009


Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves.

Only she wore green, as did we, because of the siege. No fabric could come from the east or north, so we had but bolts and bolts of flags from the anniversary festival just past. My Polly's days were taken up, and her eyesight lost, in piecing that army of flags into jackets, trousers, and frocks. The dances beneath those flags of green stripe had been the last enjoyment for any of us, except the children, who played on through the siege, and of course my lord. Only a gilded heart, with gold-stopped eyes to match, would call her frocks a choice, a garland, a song.

My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

A golden heart he had, to be sure, but also I'd wager he loved the thing of her rather than the lady herself. The notion of love, of loving, of loving her. I've lost many a gamble, and so may be mistaken, but surely as moss and mold are that same blessed green, I know that his wasted love meant the loss of mine as well. Many a day my fellows and I spent fetching her this or that, and each of those days my fading Polly saw me not.

No comments:

Post a Comment