*The Sonnet of Sir Godric of Wales*1
(Lovestruck fancy toward an Highland lass)2
Wouldst that I but have thy love, mine heart wouldst leap a thousand 3
Eons, and waltz with thy own into eternity and if it be, for but a Moment’s splendid grace, and a whisper on the tendrils of the midnight Breeze, I wouldst be of the gladdest kind of all that saw the heavens4
Open into the darkness and the light of the east cometh into the day. I Wish, that I couldst have naught but a moment more to embrace thy tender Beauty, and wouldst thou be the Maiden fair of mine dreams so that I, Even as the lands of far and wide stretch into the horizon and separate Our being, wouldst but I hold thy hand into the night of my own desires, Wouldst that I long for a slight of a hand, a welcome touch, that I for Righteousness be encouraged to delight in the divinity of thy precious Youth? That I am regretted to leave thy presence, I am certain that thou Wouldst know my love and send me on my way, as thou wouldst only see fit For a spell, a token of thy own true love, a kiss upon a rose of silken Petal, for thy own beauty doth master it, and I, a slave to thy own Will, until thou wouldst have me by thy side every waking hour. Fare thee well, for I shan’t rest, until the melody of thy sparkling voice Flood over me like the dew of the virgin morn…5
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*The Sonnet of Gwennyth McDougall*7
(In reply to the worsip of a knight)8
Oh! For Grace, thou hast known, that I am no flower! Knight, fare thee Well, this day, a moment but ago, thou wouldst proclaim thy love on thy One knee, to a sparrow, and thou wouldst only behold an ivory feather, And who am I that I, pray thee, trust to thy own hope, what do I have For thee, that thou wouldst kiss a night before thy own retirement, Before the moon shall rest upon thy closing eyes? What but I wouldst Have for thee, I wish that thou couldst but speak again, for thou art The god of my very dreams, an angel sent to bring forth melody that I Wouldst have never known! Alas! Mine are of no clear waters, as thou Wouldst have it, I naught but fear that thou hast naught but fleeting Glimpse of a dying dream upon thy lips? Speak again, my Knight of Chivalrous deed be done, and allow thy heart to trust thy own Convictions, that thou wouldst know if thy own word be true! For wouldst I pluck the soaring eagle from his kindred clouds above, and share mine Own misfortune upon his weeping soul? And thus, I fear, the passion of Thy own bosom, springs forth, but through its bitter course, as frost Upon the first flower, and withers in its burning…9
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Author notes
Alright. I hate to have to go through the process of explaining this, but I'm afraid only superbly educated people who share a passion for shakespearean sonnetry and plays, and old english syntax would understand or appreciate this piece. It is written in the style of 15th century plays and sonnets. It doesn't rhyme, but flows with old language. Alright, the knight is a man of wealthy and high social stature. He is brave, bold, and courageous. He is rich, powerful, and could have any woman in the kingdom if he so desired it, but he falls in love with a young lady, who is not a 'lady' by social terms. She is born into an 'unpedigreed' family. She is middle-class and hardly considered wealthy by any means. She doesn't think she is beautiful, and she is terrified by the knight, Godric's love. Godric is completely taken with her and vows all these beautiful and illustrous things and compares her beauty to that of a rose. Gwynneth doesn't quite understand how she could possibly be worthy of such praise, and she is worried that he would be lowering himself to her lowly level to take her as a wife and be with her. She fears that she will only bring him down, and will restrict his youthful freedom, and cause only a hindrance, and she is mostly afraid that he is merely lusting for her, and doesn't know whether it could be real love. Soon, I might add more sonnets, to finish the tale. For now, I'll leave the ideas hanging.
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