Brave Thoughts

Green is the upper robe, Green with a yellow lining; My sorrow none may probe, Nor can I cease repining. Green is the upper robe, The lower garb is yellow; My sorrow none may probe, Nor any season mellow. The silk was of emerald dye, Ah! this was all your doing; But I dream of an age gone by To keep my heart from rueing. Fine linen or coarse, ’tis cold, But all I have to dress me; So I think of the men of old, And find brave thoughts possess me.