Amaryllis and the lost shepherdess

In checking my spelling of Amaryllis, I discovered that it is also the name of the shepherdess in a love poem by Virgil. How appropriate! This is the intricate layering of Art and Nature, yarn and knitting.

I also found another pattern that made me think of being wrapped in a flower. At the right is Ole Bolero from Fiddlesticks Knitting. The lovely flared sleeves look like the flowers of the Trumpet Vine - spectacular flashes of red in August. This fetching cropped top could also be knit in Periwinkle, at left, then it would be like Canterbury bells - soft shades of blue and mauve to colour a summer evening. The garment itself is very pastoral - something a shepherdess might wear. "Ethnic" is still very much in fashion so there is still time to knit and enjoy it!

I also found a poem "The Lost Shepherdess" by Robert Herrick (1591-1674). His shepherdess is a little truncated, but the idea is still the same. There is even the word "knit" in the last line. Why I may have met my soul mate. He's 415 years old and lost....hmmmm. The poem you will remember by Robert Herrick starts out "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..." The picture on the right is my gathering of rosebuds - It's a scarf done in a crocheted rosebud stitch (more on crochet later) using Country Silk in both Berry and Wine.
Here is Robert Herrick looking for his shepherdess:

The Lost Shepherdess
Among the myrtles as I walk'd
Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my Shepherdess?
--Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this?
In every thing that's sweet she is.
In yond' carnation go and seek,
There thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that enamell'd pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
--'Tis true, said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an union;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopp'd; Said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die;
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets here knit together.
Have a great weekend - Carol