Green groweth the holly, <br /> So doth the ivy. <br /> Though winter blasts blow never so high, <br /> Green groweth the holly. <br /> As the holly groweth green <br /> And never changeth hue, <br /> So I am, ever hath been, <br /> Unto my lady true. <br /> As the holly groweth green <br /> With ivy all alone <br /> When flowers cannot be seen <br /> And greenwood leaves be gone, <br /> <br /> Now unto my lady <br /> Promise to her I make, <br /> From all other only <br /> To her I me betake. <br /> <br /> Adieu, mine own lady, <br /> Adieu, my special <br /> Who hath my heart truly <br /> Be sure, and ever shall.<br /><br />Henry VIII Tudor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/green-groweth-the-holly-2/
