Giles Watson's poetry and prose
Spindle Berries
Taken at Ashdown Estate near Lambourn. At last I get some reasonably good pics of spindle berries!
SPINDLE (Euonymus europaeus)
Spindle spin and Spindle grow;
Mirth and magic overflow.
Ruddy seed and fine-toothed leaf,
Spindle, dispel gloom and grief.
Her father died when she was seventeen,
And wicked was the man who wed her mother,
And all her hopes and dreams he sought to smother,
Forbidding her to walk amid the green.
The old man cursed and locked her in his keep -
He hoped to drive her slowly to despair -
The floor was earthen, clammy was the air;
She sat alone, and watched the spiders creep.
And nought she had, to pass her empty time,
But a spindle, fashioned by her father.
No wool, but only cobwebs could she gather,
The windows dim, and caked with moss and grime.
She thrust her spindle fast into the ground,
And whispered, “All is not as it appears.”
She watered it forlornly with her tears;
But for her sobbing, made no other sound.
And buds grew on the spindle in the morning;
A pair of smooth, green leaves were sprouting soon.
Her delighted eyes beheld, by afternoon,
A little Spindle tree, with leaves adorning.
And overnight grew flowers greenish-white,
And after, clustered fruit as red as roses.
And behold, what morningtide discloses:
Beneath the tree, she’s dancing with delight.
The old man came to gloat and make demand,
And thought he’d find her grieving on the ground;
Bemused by her sweet laughter, nought he found,
But spiders’ webs, and a spindle in her hand.
Spindle spin and Spindle grow;
Mirth and magic overflow.
Ruddy seed and fine-toothed leaf,
Spindle, dispel gloom and grief.
Source material. My imagination, and a variety of folk traditions.
Poem by Giles Watson (2001)
For more of my poems about plants, see:
Spindle Berries
Taken at Ashdown Estate near Lambourn. At last I get some reasonably good pics of spindle berries!
SPINDLE (Euonymus europaeus)
Spindle spin and Spindle grow;
Mirth and magic overflow.
Ruddy seed and fine-toothed leaf,
Spindle, dispel gloom and grief.
Her father died when she was seventeen,
And wicked was the man who wed her mother,
And all her hopes and dreams he sought to smother,
Forbidding her to walk amid the green.
The old man cursed and locked her in his keep -
He hoped to drive her slowly to despair -
The floor was earthen, clammy was the air;
She sat alone, and watched the spiders creep.
And nought she had, to pass her empty time,
But a spindle, fashioned by her father.
No wool, but only cobwebs could she gather,
The windows dim, and caked with moss and grime.
She thrust her spindle fast into the ground,
And whispered, “All is not as it appears.”
She watered it forlornly with her tears;
But for her sobbing, made no other sound.
And buds grew on the spindle in the morning;
A pair of smooth, green leaves were sprouting soon.
Her delighted eyes beheld, by afternoon,
A little Spindle tree, with leaves adorning.
And overnight grew flowers greenish-white,
And after, clustered fruit as red as roses.
And behold, what morningtide discloses:
Beneath the tree, she’s dancing with delight.
The old man came to gloat and make demand,
And thought he’d find her grieving on the ground;
Bemused by her sweet laughter, nought he found,
But spiders’ webs, and a spindle in her hand.
Spindle spin and Spindle grow;
Mirth and magic overflow.
Ruddy seed and fine-toothed leaf,
Spindle, dispel gloom and grief.
Source material. My imagination, and a variety of folk traditions.
Poem by Giles Watson (2001)
For more of my poems about plants, see: