The Girl-Goldsmith

The Girl-Goldsmith

Girl-goldsmith of the garland-
Circlet of birch leaves, her gold
Gleaned from twigs -- a woodland gift,
Gain of patience, goodly graft,
Gilt through craft of growth and love
In her smithy of glittering leaves --
Garners praise: molten silver.
Love's ardour is her solder.
Her beauty is the treasure
Where dew drips like a tear,
A gem distilled, fed by roots,
Garland twisted from the shoots
Growing in the hilltop grove.
She twists, winds. Her hand engraves
Bright sigils to bind my heart,
Thumb and finger keeping hold
Of each wire. Fire of amber
Glows like a dying ember
In a torc or tarnished brooch.
More beautiful by far: birch
Woven like wicker. True worth
Is her troth, knit in a wreath.

I treasure my birch garland --
Tortured by such hard longing --
Hold it to my heart. It hurts
To clutch it through summer's heat,
But I am bound by it. Cool
Autumn refines it. How cruel,
Her art! More fool me - trusting
To twigs of Morfudd's twisting,
My breast riven by desire,
Smelted with her summer-fire.
Skilful witching! By my word,
She works jewels out of wood,
To shame Siannyn! My praise
And slavery is the price.
Lucky is the man who finds
Himself in the woods, entwined
Between her enamel legs,
Enmeshed in her twist of twigs.

Poem by Dafydd ap Gwilym, paraphrased by Giles Watson, 2011.

Category:

Film & Animation

Tags:

• Dafydd ap Gwilym
• poem
• poetry
• mediaeval
• goldsmith
• medieval
• love poetry
• cywydd Middle Ages Poetry