We have detected that you are using an adblocking plugin in your browser.

The revenue we earn by the advertisements is used to manage this website. Please whitelist our website in your adblocking plugin.

Musical break: Is a man's lust for a milkmaid bezide the winter's willow folksong or artsong?

By John Terauds on February 8, 2013

winter

The view from my window is white, with faint charcoal outlines of trees this morning. It made me think of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s setting of William Barnes’ “The Winter’s Willow,” a mid-19th century poem that is, when all is said and milked, about a young man with a plan.

The poem dates from the mid-19th century, written in an approximation of how people spoke in Dorset, part of a celebration of all things rural and handmade at the height of the Industrial Revolution.

Vaughan Williams set three of the verses in a fine imitation of a quiet folk ballad — timeless and sweet.

We typically put folk and art music in different categories. Does this mean that this particular piece by Vaughan Williams is not art music, or does it say more about how we insist on a slot for everything?

As the snow falls, let’s see the world through these smitten eyes, sung by Roderick Williams. Let’s then compare this to a “real” folksong, “The Oak and the Ash,” from the north of England, sung by the great British Early Music revivalist, Alfred Deller (1916-1979).

“The Winter’s Willow”

There Liddy zat bezide her cow,
Upon her lowly seat, O;
A hood did overhang her brow,
Her païl wer at her veet, O;
An’ she wer kind, an’ she wer feäir,
An’ she wer young, an’ free o’ ceäre;
Vew winters had a-blow’d her heäir,
Bezide the Winter’s Willow.

Above the coach-wheels rollèn rims
She never rose to ride, O,
Though she do zet her comely lim’s
Above the mare’s white zide, O;
But don’t become too proud to stoop
An’ scrub her milkèn pail’s white hoop,
Or zit a-milkèn where do droop,
The wet-stemm’d Winter’s Willow.

An’ if there’s readship in her smile,
She don’t begrudge to speäre, O,
To zomebody a little while,
The empty woaken chair, O;
An’ if I’ve luck upon my zide,
Why, I do think she’ll be my bride
Avore the leaves ha’ twice a-died
Upon the Winter’s Willow.

“The Oak and the Ash”

John Terauds

Share this article
lv_toronto_banner_high_590x300
comments powered by Disqus

FREE ARTS NEWS STRAIGHT TO YOUR INBOX, EVERY MONDAY BY 6 AM

company logo

Part of

Terms of Service & Privacy Policy
© 2025 | Executive Producer Moses Znaimer