A 16th-Century Witch-Song

Because of its imagery, we sing Green Grow'th the Holly at Yule, but the love of which it speaks is evergreen.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

As the Holly groweth green,

and changeth not its hue:

so I am, ever have been,

unto my Lady true.

 As the Holly is ever green, the lover declares, so his (or—why not?—her) love for this Lady is forever true.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

As the Holly groweth green,

with Ivy all alone:

when flowers may not be seen,

and greenwood leaves be gone.

The song is more than 500 years old. Some attribute it—ironically, surely—to that most notoriously fickle lover, King Henry VIII. (Written, perhaps, for the six-fingered Anne Boleyn, reputed in her day to be a witch?) Though Henry was indeed a skilled musician and composer of music, I myself remember a time (if you'll pardon the comparison) when all pagan chants were variously ascribed to Starhawk, and remain dubious.

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

Now unto my Lady

promise to her I make

from all others, only

to her I me partake.

But we sing it as a Witch song: a song of faithfulness, not only to a mortal lover, but to the Craft itself, and to the Craft's Lady.

Remember that Green—as in the song Greensleeves, also attributed to Henry VIII—has ever been the fairy color. Bear in mind that the Goddess of Witches is known also as the Queen of Elfhame, of whom it is said: She hath a grip of all the Craft.

Disguised as a song of mortal love, this perennial faithfulness to the Craft and its Goddess may thus be publicly declared on the street or down at the pub. A witch song that no non-witch recognizes as a witch song: what could be witchier than that?

Green grow'th the Holly; so doth the Ivy.

Though Winter blasts blow ne'er so high,

green grow'th the Holly.

Adieu my Lady,

adieu my special,

that hath my heart truly:

be sure, and ever shall.

In this reading, one could view the song's Winter as the recurring times of persecution which, down the centuries, the Craft has endured, and through all of which we have nonetheless remained faithful. But—as my friend and colleague Frebur M. has pointed out recently in a thoroughgoing and painfully honest analysis of a life spent in the Craft (of which more anon)—anyone who gives his or her life to the Craft and its Lady will know the recurrent cycles of falling in and out of love that (truly speaking) characterize any long-time love.

Though we sing Green Grow'th the Holly at Yule, its truth—by my own experience—remains, nonetheless, year-round, life-long, perennial.

For CFM, KH, and AE