One of my all time favorite melodies is “Greensleeves”, especially the chorus. Yet I’ve always found it difficult to fully enjoy because the lyrics are so incredibly chauvinistic. The song is basically about a man feeling “cast off” by his love interest after showering her with gifts, attention, and the promise of status—implying in no uncertain terms that she’s a soulless bitch for having a mind and a heart of her own.
Even so, I’ve found myself singing the first few verses over and over again all my life. But something happened a few years back; I began to experiment with alternative lyrics as I sang. This eventually inspired me to go all out revising this song about personal rejection into a tragic lament about lost love:
Greensleeves
Alas, my Dear, you are dead and gone,
your spirit cast on the starry sea.
And I have loved you oh so long,
delighting in your company.
Greensleeves was my heart of Joy—
Greensleeves, my one true love.
Greensleeves was my sole delight.
And, who but my Lady Greensleeves.
We met beneath an ancient ash.
Her youthful leaves danced in the sun.
A stream ran near with gentle plash.
We talked until the day was done.
All summer long we made our tryst
where oaks grow strong by the garden gate.
When autumn fields were gold we kissed
and vowed our love with eyes elate.
Greensleeves was my heart of Joy—
Greensleeves, my one true love.
Greensleeves was my sole delight.
And, who but my Lady Greensleeves.
Our marriage was a quaint affair.
I gave to you my father’s sword.
We traded rings and tender stares,
exchanging many a heartfelt word.
For eight full phases of the moon,
we joyed alone in solitude.
We drank the golden mead at noon
and passed our nights in loving mood.
Greensleeves was my heart of Joy—
Greensleeves, my one true love.
Greensleeves was my sole delight.
And, who but my Lady Greensleeves.
All winter long and through the spring
you carved inscriptions in the cheese
and chanted charms to bless and bring
our unborn child to life with ease.
At night you hummed by candlelight
the songs your mother sang to you
while weaving clothes to soon bedight
the hope that curled within and grew.
Greensleeves was my heart of Joy—
Greensleeves, my one true love.
Greensleeves was my sole delight.
And, who but my Lady Greensleeves.
But on that day you labored hard
and in the end for all your strife
the sacred path to breath was barred—
Our child was born devoid of life.
For three full days in bed you lay
with burning brow and a will undone.
On that third night you passed away
and went to join our stillborn son.
Greensleeves was my heart of Joy—
Greensleeves, my one true love.
Greensleeves was my sole delight.
And, who but my Lady Greensleeves.
Alas, my dear, you are dead and gone,
your spirit cast on the starry sea.
And I have loved you oh so long,
delighting in your company.
The original version repeats the chorus every other verse, but here I decided to come back to the chorus every third verse—though I lead and end with a single refrained verse before the first and after the final chorus. I liked the idea of the opening verse acting as both prologue and epilogue. The last two lines from this verse are the only part of this revision that remain entirely unchanged from the original. Over the years, I’ve encountered several variations of the chorus, so I felt pretty free about creating my own variation, one that more closely fits the story as I’ve reimagined it.
Since the original song seems well rooted in Medieval Britain, I studied up on Anglo-Saxon traditions around courtship, marriage, birth, and death as I explored this recreation. I’ll run through what I used from top to bottom.
It was customary for the groom to give the bride his father’s sword during the marriage ceremony. She would later present this sword to their firstborn son as he passed into adolescence. Rings and vows would also be traded much as we do now. In fact, our current tradition of trading rings and vows stems from this period.
I was surprised to learn that our current use of “honeymoon” is rooted in medieval Britain. Once married, the bride and groom would promptly retire to a remote location for one full cycle of the moon—so 28 days, or “eight full phases” as I put it—every day drinking mead (fermented honey) and making love. It was thought that the mead would bring good health and help ensure conception during this time. Perhaps this worked, as the bride was usually pregnant by the time they returned.
Pregnant women of the period were wont to inscribe charms into the cheese and/or butter they ate. These charms were thought to help ensure full and healthy development of the fetus. One such charm popular at the time was the “Sator Square,” which didn’t even have anything to do with pregnancy or childbirth. Women would also recite charms throughout their pregnancy, often while enacting elaborate rituals, such as stepping over the body of their sleeping husband in bed a certain number of times.
Turns out there was good reason for all this superstition, as today’s anthropologists have determined that as much as 50% of deaths among females in their 20s and 30s occurred during or shortly after labor or miscarriage. The risks would have been well understood at the time. A similar percentage of infants died during or shortly after birth. While pregnancy would have been a time of great joy and anticipation, it was also one of great worry and uncertainty.
Now, I’ve been singing these lyrics ever since deciding they’re finished, and I don’t feel at all weird about it.
