Meditation On Harlech Castle

We should not love a castle, but we do;
we place ourselves within its keep, not where
we’d really stand. For thousands, not a few,
the parapets were meant to strip you bare.

We love the castle for its inner view,
the safe and privileged place we dream to share,
Its bridge down, pennants fluttering; for who
considers himself “Saracen” not “heir”?

This crumbling stone machine was not meant to
welcome you in; its gatehouse disrepair
belies intended gore. You’d be shot through
before you set a foot inside the square.

The escalades and walks were not for you.
You never saw the glass and silver-ware,
the neat stone well, the chapel doloroux;
For you was not the heraldry fanfare.

We love a castle most if once we knew
some private bed behind a portiere;
beau idéal of one throne sized for two,
inside love’s wall, secure, belonging there.

I stand outside. A castle’s function true
was blood and guard; look up to your despair.
To each walled heart, we’re all the wandering Jew;
Limestone and granite sing you solitaire.

Sweet the rhyme and full of grace,
sunshine of my lady’s face,
Sweet the song and clear the skies,
Radiant as my lady’s eyes.
Sweet the song, its notes are pure:
my lady slept this night secure.
Sun rose, day came like a shout!
horns blew and my lord rode out.
Such a prize at such high cost;
Night came and my lady’s lost.
Sweet the tune yet tinged with rue:
tears as rain, my lady’s due.
Sweet the song though sad the air:
The lute still sings that sweet despair.

(Ruth Johnston, 2013)