a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmâd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or natureâs changing course untrimmâd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
I waited under the beech treeâs cloak long before the church bell struck, in case she came early. I had time to say my prayers seven times before being sure she would never come. What right had a lout such as I to woo one as fair and dainty?
The branches parted, and she was there.
I stood as if rooted like the beech tree, ashamed of my apprenticeâs cap, my very self, beside her. She smiled and looked at the roll of parchment in my hand. I held it out, dumb as an ox.
She took it. She began to read.
I had expected to read it to her, as every woman I had yet known had needed a man to read words for her. But I had forgot that she was a maid like no other. Oh, miracle green eyes that read, and hands that wrote, and a mind bright with wit, this warm apple of my heart.
She gazed up at me. âIt is most beautiful,â she said softly. âBut I do not know the poet.â
I said, âIt is I.â
âYou are truly a poet then.â She said it as another might say, âYou did not tell me you were Emperor of all the Romans.â
From somewhere I found the wit to say, âNot until I found my muse of fire to inspire me.â
She looked at me steadily. How could green eyes be flames? âI have a gift for thee as well.â She took a parchment from her sleeve and held it out.
I took it. Read it. Felt the heart within me burst in wonder, then come together once again, now more hers than mine.
My eyes, I fear, are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than my lips red;
If snow be white, my skin is dun;
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see you in my cheeks;
Yet take these instead, for I have nothing else to give:
My words, my heart; for the instant that I saw you did
My heart fly to your service, where âtwill dwell
While the both of us shall live.
I met her gaze.
âTwo hearts that beat as one,â she whispered. âTwo minds that breathe the air of poets.â
I took her hand and kissed it. It smelt sweet, of roses and fresh bread.
âTwo lips,â I whispered, âthat meet; and in that meeting slow, all time, till no more time shall flow.â
I stepped closer and kissed her lips.
That night I wrote another verse. And so, that night, did she, for the moment we might meet again, exchanging words and kisses.
Dinner: a good salmon baked with sorrel; eel pie; frumenty with almond milk; samphire sallet; mushroom soup with dumplings, which is all my wife did eat, her face much swollen; a pudding of nuts and ginger; an orange, which I had sent from London for my delight.
Bowels and waters continue good.
Tuesday, 3rd November 1615
A bright day, the sun for once put off his grey gown of cloud, and cold enough to turn a nose to ice. We have fires lit in each room now, to keep the house from freezing like the pond, where one small foolish duck lies till released to proper death by spring. Today the surgeon came again, to much groaning of my wife. The screams of the Sabine women were naught compared with the shrieks above our stairs. Three of her teeth removed, the surgeon then informed me, my wifeâs blood still upon his cuffs, for which I must pay a guinea, but âtwill be worth it if we now sleep in peace. Two of the teeth be at the front, so when she smiles now it must be with her mouth closed, but that art she hath learnt before when her side tooth turned black.
I rode out in the latter morn with my agent and Jem for a groom to inspect my farms and granaries, to ensure that all is well prepared for winter, and was greatly satisfied with all. Arrived home in time to wash and change for dinner.
We had two invitations to dine today, but refused each. Many do think to dine with us,
Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont
Charlene Sands
Cathy Tully
Veronica Heley
Jeffrey Archer
Anonymous-9
Chrissie Loveday
Cynthia Garner
Cheryl Rainfield
Dyann Love Barr